


ashes to ashes

by neroh



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Eugenics War, Alternate Universe - Post-War, Betrayal, Canonical Character Death, Developing Relationship, M/M, Outlander Fusion, Past Relationship(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Time Travel, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neroh/pseuds/neroh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1945: Combat fatigued and downtrodden, Captain James Kirk accompanies his older brother and sister-in-law to Scotland for a vacation to calm his nerves. While they research Aurelan's family history, Jim occupies himself with exploring the town near the Keith MacMhòrdha estate. He stumbles upon a circle of standing stones and goes to touch one, only to find himself awaking in a different time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BreTheWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/gifts).



> This my attempt at a McKirk Outlander AU. You can blame the encouragement of Bre, Leah, Dax, and Ricechex for this.

Night time is the worst for him, as it is for most people. He suspects that they dream of the things that go bump in the night; of monsters, of goblins, of dark beings waiting in shadows to reach out and grab them.

Jim Kirk does not dream, he hasn’t in nearly six months.

Every time he closes his eyes, he can hear the air raid sirens piercing through the atmosphere like a red herring. The screams of dying men—Allied or Axis forces as it doesn’t matter to Death—fill his ears, a perfect accompaniment to the symphony of bombs and gunfire.

There’s Christopher whose sightless gray eyes look up at him and mouth is slack, his lips splattered with dirt and blood alike. Jim can never save him in time, no matter how hard he tries.

And just before he wakes up screaming, there is John hovering in the distance like a specter.

He’s sitting up in the inn room, body shaking and sweat-covered skin pimpling in the cool night air. Jim tosses the coverlet off him and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. It’s easy to ignore the creak of the mattress springs as it adjusts to his moving body; he’s experienced far worse than a few noisy pieces of metal.

Jim waits until he’s certain he can stand before crossing the room to the wash basin. Mrs. Lister, the kindly woman who runs the inn, had brought him fresh water before he retired for the evening. He suspects that his— _their_ , really, as Jim is here with his brother, Samuel, and sister-in-law, Aurelan —host knows of his night terrors.

Mrs. Lister is too old-fashioned to outright ask her young guest of his service during the war, but Jim has that look about him.

That haunted one of seeing comrades and enemies alike die in front of him, of civilians being caught in the crossfire, of having to kill or be killed.

Samuel had been lucky, he got to remain stateside while Jim fought in France with the 30th Infantry Division. He saw action in Normandy, parts of Northern France, Rhineland, and lastly Ardennes-Alsace. It hadn’t been so bad at first until it was.

At least Jim had his godfather, Christopher Pike, and his English pal, John Harrison, at his side. They kept things from becoming too bleak.

He splashes his face before his thoughts become too deep, too consuming. The water is room temperature by now, as it’s half past four in the morning, but it’s far cooler than Jim’s nightmare-fevered skin. As he’s wiping the droplets from his face, there is a knock at the door.

It’s almost like clockwork now and Jim is unsurprised to find Samuel standing in the darkened hallway, wearing a robe over his pajamas. On his feet is a pair of flannel slippers that Aurelan purchased when they were in London.

They are cut from the same cloth, favoring their father’s side of the family more than their mother’s. Both Kirk brothers have golden hair, though Jim’s is more dirty blond now, and that very charismatic smile that enhances their good looks.

His older brother is a just a hair shorter than he and has their mother’s brown eyes while Jim shares their father’s irises of robin’s egg blue.

 _They are quite enrapturing_ , John had told him one night while they sat in the barracks, passing a flask of whiskey between them. _Like the deep end of the ocean._

“You okay, Jimmy?” his older brother asks, coming into the room without invitation. Samuel’s footing the bill, so why should he.

Jim nods as he shuts the door behind him. “Bad dream is all,” he replies.

“Again?” Samuel says, exasperated. He palms his face, blowing air out his mouth like a deflating balloon.

He twists the towel in his hands, fidgeting nervously under his brother’s scrutiny. “It’s not something I can control,” Jim intones.

“I know,” he hears Samuel counter, sounding just as defeated as Jim feels. “I know, Jimmy.” He places a hand on his shoulder, giving him a little shake. “I know that you’ve been through a lot and it grates on a man’s conscience. I just thought…”

“You thought that a vacation would help,” Jim finishes saying. He catches Samuel’s tense expression in the dim light of the room and gives him a wan smile. “We just got here.”

His brother nods in agreement. “You’re absolutely right. We should give you a little time to decompress,” Samuel tells him with a grin. “Once we arrive at Keith MacMhòrdha, you can rest while Aurelan and I poke about the archives.”

“I never pictured you being a bindle punk,” Jim teases.

Samuel rolls his eyes and gives his little brother a playful shove. “The only punk I see here is you,” he retorts. He turns serious, clapping Jim’s face. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Jim lies. “I’ll just read until I get tired.”

“Okay,” his brother says, eying him warily. “Come get me if you need anything, got it?”

Jim mock salutes him. “Roger,” he replies. “Now scram! You have a pretty dame in your bed and I’m sure she’s more entertaining than your sap of a brother.”

“True, but you’re my sap of a brother,” Samuel tells Jim before he leaves.

The room falls quiet once more, providing a barrier between Jim and the rest of the world. Combat fatigue is what the doctors called his condition.

It had begun with exhaustion and headaches and progressed to multiple symptoms that worried Jim’s family. Gone was their mischievous son who always had a sharp quip or a line for the ladies on his tongue, replaced by a stranger who could barely leave his bed.

Loud noises frightened him and sent Jim into a tailspin of hyperventilation and attack of his nerves. He had frequent nightmares that gave way to insomnia and his hospitalization back in Riverside.

He remembers the morning that he came downstairs to find his mother already in town to run errands and his step-father, Frank, sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee. Jim had been shaking so hard that he was surprised that his bones were still in his body.

Frank, bless him, took one glance at his stepson and went into emergency mode. “Jimmy, what is it?” he said, grabbing him by the biceps.

“I can’t sleep,” Jim told him, his voice coming out in rasps. He felt himself sinking to the floor in a slow, endless descent. “I can’t sleep, Frank. I can’t sleep.”

Wrapping him in a blanket, his step-father bundled Jim into the car and brought him straight to the hospital.

Jim doesn’t remember much of the first few days; just when he woke up in a hospital room with his family gathered by his bedside.

“We’ve been seeing this in a lot of returning soldiers,” the doctor explained just beyond Jim’s room. His folks and the doctor thought he was resting; he _should have_ been resting. “What James needs is rest. Perhaps a change of scenery, somewhere he can regain his strength.”

What he wishes he could have said to the doctor is that he needed to unsee all of the horrors that were burned into his brain. He needs someone to talk to, someone that will understand and not judge him or urge him to forget everything.

He doesn’t need a vacation in Scotland at some ancestral home of his sister-in-law.

Jim needs a way out.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Save for Edith Piaf’s sorrowful vocals and whispered chatter from the front seat, the drive to Inverness is quiet.

The Morris Eight has a fairly comfortable backseat, allowing Jim to catch up on much-needed sleep. He doesn’t dare admit to his family that rest did not come once Samuel left. He suspects that he hid his fatigue during their breakfast well enough, as neither his brother or sister-in-law say a word as Jim drifts off.

He tries to sleep through the first leg of their journey, his forehead pressed against the passenger window. Jim never fully drops off, lingering somewhere between wakefulness and that sweet oblivion that doesn’t come as easily as it used to.

“I was wondering if we’d have to wake you,” Samuel says as he notices his little brother blinking from the rearview mirror. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “We’re about fifty miles outside of Inverness.”

Aurelan turns around in the front seat. “You’ll get to see some of the scenery, Scout,” she tells him with a delighted grin. “It’s much different from Riverside. Look!”

Jim follows her pointed finger towards the lush greenery that surrounds them. It is a sharp, beautiful contrast to Iowa, where the flat land is covered by rolling cornfields. Scotland is all jagged crags and climbing mountains reaching towards the cloudy sky above.

 _I shall take you to my ancestral estate once this blasted war is over_ , John had told him. Jim can still picture the twinkle in his pale blue eyes as he speaks of the British Isles and describes their beauty. _All you can see is green, shades of it, for kilometers upon kilometers. Miles, my Yankee friend._

He swallows at the memory, trying to ignore its sharpness that plunges into his still beating heart. Jim tears his eyes away from the window to stare at his hands that are folded in his lap.

How John still manages to affect him so deeply is a mystery to him. As soon as his betrayal—an unholy allegiance to the Nazi—came to light, Jim only felt hatred and stabbing regret.

Yet his presence is everywhere and nowhere, slowly driving Jim to the brink of madness.

“You okay, Jimmy?” Samuel inquires from the front.

Jim nods, forcing a grin. “A little carsick is all,” he assures. “Your driving is the pits, Sammy.”

His brother scoffs while Aurelan giggles. She caresses Samuel with a gloved hand and smiles when he glances at her.

Jim watches as she scoots across the seat and nestles up next to the elder Kirk like she was meant to be there all her life.

He wonders if he’ll ever find the type of love that Samuel and Aurelan share or if that life is even meant for him. Jim sighs as he leans against the window, his mind still on the elusive John Harrison. That enigmatic man with the palest eyes he had ever seen on a single human being and that voice sent a shiver down Jim’s spine.

The same man who seduced him and made him feel alive until he stabbed Jim in the proverbial back. He took down thousands with his deceit, Christopher included.

It’s just as well that Jim lived through the Battle of the Bulge and is suffering like he is now. Perhaps it’s a form of punishment for consorting with the devil himself.

 

* * *

 

Keith MacMhòrdha lies just several miles outside of Inverness and the house itself is in the middle of Scottish moors, rising through the dense forest like a beacon to welcome its guests from afar.

“It’s a baronial country house,” Aurelan explains as the car drives along the avenue, where two figures stand on the front steps, waiting for them. “It is said that it was gifted to my family by Simon Fraser of Keith, hence the name. According to my father’s notes, it’s likely that the land was given as part of a dowry.”

Jim surveys the great stone structure, noting how well the ancient house has been maintained. It seems that the war left this place untouched by its atrocities, allowing peace to seep into the ten acres of land. “It’s impressive,” he tells his sister-in-law.

“Wait until you see the inside!” Aurelan exclaims.

The inside can cause one to become lost if they did not know their way. The house boasts two wings spread out onto two stories. The master bedroom contains its own dressing room and an ensuite bathroom for Samuel and Aurelan’s private use while Jim finds himself being led to the other side of the east wing by the head housekeeper, Mrs. Rand.

She is a cloud of pale blonde hair in her middling years and tells Jim that she has worked with the Reverend Doctor Richard Barnett for well over two decades.

“I reckon longer than you’ve been alive, lad,” Mrs. Rand says.

Jim silently follows her through the house, carrying his bags as the lady leads him to his room. Samuel hadn’t been pleased with the far proximity between the brothers; he never said it, though the younger Kirk could see it etched on his face.

“You’ve picked a bonny time to come for a visit, Mr. Kirk,” she continues on. “Tis a lovely season to see Scotland in all her glory.”

He realizes that Mrs. Rand is still speaking. “It’s actually Captain Kirk,” Jim corrects as gently as possible.

“Captain, you say?” she replies. Mrs. Rand looks her young guest over, pressing her already thin lips into a tight line. “American military, then.”

Jim nods. “Yes. Army National Guard,” he answers. “The 30th Infantry Division.”

“I reckon you saw a lot of combat,” Mrs. Rand comments kindly. “Fought over in the Continent, did you?”

He fidgets, uncomfortable with the line of questioning. “Battle of the Bulge,” Jim nearly whispers.

It surprises him when Mrs. Rand cups his cheek, brushing her thumb over his skin. “You poor lamb,” she says. “That haunted look is about you -- the one you see on the lads that do come home.” Her eyes mist over, causing Jim to wonder if she lost a loved one during the war. “Your brother doesn’t seem that way.”

“Sam never saw combat,” Jim explains. “He was a part of the Manhattan Project.”

Samuel had been the scientist in the family, working under Dr. Oppenheimer, while Jim was the warrior-like their father, George. His older brother bore the name of their deceased parent, who died during the First World War.

On Jim’s birthday, to be exact—the fourth of January, 1918. George Kirk’s body was never recovered from the enemy lines, though the government granted their mother a medal of his valor.

“Aye, I see,” Mrs. Rand states after a long while. She offers him a smile meant to ease his discomfort. “Well, Captain, I hope this trip helps you find what you seek. Come along now, I’m sure you want to unpack before supper!”

 

* * *

 

His first night inside the walls of Keith MacMhòrdha happens to be entirely uneventful and possibly the most restful night Jim has had since coming back from the war.

He averages four hours of straight sleep before waking up to Christopher’s deep voice fading in his ears as he whispers, “Everything’s going to be all right, son.”

Those were his godfather’s last words, Jim remembers that moment as if it had just happened. He recalls Christopher’s dirty face in the low light of morning, unshaven and weather-beaten. The man still smiled despite their circumstances. In that moment, Jim believed him just as he always done because his godfather never led him astray, even as a young man back in Iowa. He kept believing in his words until Christopher was killed.

Jim gets out of bed and goes to the door where he flips on the light switch, watching as the lamps flicker for a moment. His room appears to him, the same as it was when he went to sleep.

He’s too wound up to go back to bed, so Jim takes advantage of not having Samuel trailing behind him like a worried nanny. He fetches his robe from the heavy wooden wardrobe and pulls it over his pajamas before leaving his room.

The house creaks as Jim wanders through the east wing, taking care not go too far from his room. A grin quirks his lips when he thinks of Samuel’s face upon finding his baby brother sleeping in the hallway because he can’t find his way back.

If only life was that amusing.

Jim finds himself in an alcove, those windows look upon the grounds. They are soaked in moonlight which hangs high above Scotland, full and bright.

It’s not the silver beauty of night that catches Jim’s attention, but an ancient structure in the distance, residing quietly on a hilltop. He squints, trying to get a better look through the trees, only to make out the very top.

 _Rumor has it that all sorts of mystical creatures still reside in the countryside_ , John said to him and Christopher over a drink. They were in a bar filled with soldiers, though the location does not matter now. _Pixies, fairies, witches, and nymphs._

His godfather snorted and continued to drink while ignoring John’s fantastical tale. Jim, on the other hand, was enraptured, having never been out of the States before the war.

So his English friend indulged him with stories of Druids and their open-air temples of worship and the legacy they left behind with standing stones.

Jim tears his eyes away from the window, trying to quell the rage that grows from within. If only he knew what became of John on that fateful night in Ardennes-Alsace.

It’s no use to think of it now, for what good it would do him. With one last glance, Jim goes back to his room and forgets about the structure until morning.

 

* * *

 

He sleeps late into the morning, only rousing when Mrs. Rand comes into Jim’s room with a tray of biscuits and porridge.

“You ought to get some fresh air, Captain,” she clucks as she throws open the curtains. “A young man like you shouldn’t be cooped up in his room all day, _especially_ when there’s sunshine to be had!”

Jim palms his face as he eats the meal set in front of him, picking at it with his fingers. “Where are my brother and his wife?”

“Oh, I suspect they are holed up in Richard’s study,” Mrs. Rand replies, now going through the wardrobe. One of his sweaters and a pair of slacks are draped over her arm. “But _you_ are going outside. Bring one of your books and read in the gardens or take a walk.”

He chuckles at the suggestions and nods to satisfy the housekeeper. “I saw a structure on the hilltop last night,” Jim mentions as he spoons some porridge into his mouth. “Are they standing stones?”

“You will eat with your trap shut, young man,” Mrs. Rand scolds. She has one of his collared shirts in her other hand. “And yes, they are standing stones. The rumor is that the giants brought them over from Africa.”

Jim arches a brow. “I wasn’t aware that Scots made visits to Africa, Mrs. Rand.”

“Only the giant ones,” she teases, laying out his clothing at the foot of the bed. The housekeeper gestures to his tray. “I expect that bowl to be empty when I come back _and_ for you to be outside.”

He likens Mrs. Rand to a drill sergeant and thinks that Christopher would be amused by her. After Jim has consumed the porridge and half a biscuit, he washes up in the bathroom down the hall and gets dressed in the attire the housekeeper laid out for him.

Grabbing his jacket, Jim ventures outside in the direction of the hilltop. The Scottish air is crisp, leaving him dizzy from its freshness. There are no gasoline powered tractors or mills out here, just untainted, uncultivated land for miles.

Jim never sees a soul as he hikes, something that is an unusual occurrence for a boy from Riverside, Iowa. It is not a large town, but big enough that there is nowhere to hide. Everyone knows each other’s business and for months, Jim had been the gossip of the town.

 _That Kirk boy_ , they would say as he walked on by, keeping his eyes ahead or his head down. _The one who came home from Europe. They’re saying the war made him crazy._

It is a small relief that those whispers haven’t followed him across the Atlantic unless Jim counts the looks Samuel and Aurelan give him when they think he doesn’t notice.

He knows what they are thinking when they look at him, those sad glances and all too quiet sighs. Jim has become a grenade, whose pin has been pulled.

 _When will he explode_ , they wonder.

The truth is that not even Jim knows. There are days, such as today, where he can think about his life without the surge of panic that threatens to devour him.

Those are the days he feels almost like himself; that silly boy who went to join the army to see the world and save it from the Axis Powers.

He can even laugh at that boy.

And then there are the days when there is no end to his sorrow or anxiety, where he holes himself up in his room and weeps under his blankets.

The days where his family wonders if they’ll find him dead by his own hand. They never say such things to him, but Jim _knows_ that the thought has crossed their minds.

Not his, never his.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been walking before Jim reaches the base of the hill where he gains a better view of the standing stones.

They have many names, of course: menhir, orthostat, lith, masseba, or matseva. The stones vary in size and appearance, though they still manage to tower over Jim and casts a shadow that reaches the toes of his shoes.

Some are smooth as polished marble while others are jagged as crags upon his closer inspection. Jim continues up the hill, mesmerized by the artifacts of another time. He wonders who came to these stones and what gods they worshipped.

Did they dance in the circle the stones outlined and if so, was it under the full moon? What tokens did they leave at the base and what prayers were whispered?

Were any of the patrons just as damaged as he and did they find healing in this place?

Jim steps into the circle, treading carefully as he does so as even he realizes that this is a sacred place to some. As soon as he’s inside, it seems that the world around him goes unnaturally silent, like someone unplugged all sound as they would a lamp.

He walks around the inside and keeps his hands to himself as Jim paces from standing stone to standing stone. When he comes upon the tallest of the lot, Jim finds himself in awe of it.

“How did you come to be here?” he asks aloud. “Were you really taken from the soils of Africa and placed on this hilltop?”

The stone continues to bask in the fading sunlight, never answering Jim’s question. It keeps its secrets hidden within its rough exterior, at least for now.

It is half past five when Jim finally glances at his wristwatch and scurries down the hilltop towards Keith MacMhòrdha, where he finds Samuel waiting for him in the doorway.

“I was about to send the hounds after you!” he chastises as Jim kicks the dirt from his shoes. “Where have you been?”

Jim shrugs off his jacket. “The hillside,” he says with a gesture. “I went to look at the standing stones.”

“And it took you _all day_?”

“I got a late start,” Jim tells him, his tone taking on a hint of annoyance.

Samuel folds his arms over his chest and gives him a disapproving look. “Yeah, Mrs. Rand told me when I went to go find you,” he grouses.

“I didn’t realize that I was being babysat on this trip,” Jim retorts calmly. “Or that I was still in the military and required to report to you.”

He goes to leave to wash up before supper when Samuel grabs his arm, yanking him back. “I am not Mom or Frank or Aurelan,” he hisses. “And I won’t tiptoe around the way you’ve been acting.”

“The way I’ve been acting?” Jim echoes, his voice rising. “And what way is _that_ , huh?”

Samuel frowns, deeper than any other time that he’s done so. “You’re either trapped inside your own head or acting like such an ass that I don’t even know you anymore!”

“Not all of us got to serve the country from a desk, _Sam_ ,” the younger man snaps, pulling his arm out of his brother’s grasp. He rubs his bicep, soothing the stinging skin underneath his sweater. “Some of us had to go to the front lines.”

The older Kirk rolls his eyes. “Oh please save it for someone else, Jimmy! We all know what you did and what sacrifices you made,” Samuel groans. “Except _you_ were the one who _wanted_ to go and have the glory because it’s what you always do!”

“Excuse me?” Jim scoffs, balling his fists so tightly that his nails cut into his palms. “You _really_ think I wanted to watch all those people die?”

Samuel shoves Jim against the wall. “Yeah, you watched people die, _including_ our own godfather! You were so busy being enamored with that fucking Brit that it got him killed just like I knew you would!” he bellows, his voice echoing. “Do you know what a pain in the ass you are, Jimmy? You think the rules don’t apply to you and there’s greatness in you, but not a single ounce of humility. You think that you can’t make mistakes, but you did! Christopher died because of _your mistake_!”

“What in the devil is going on in here?” Mrs. Rand exclaims, startling both men. She is standing in the doorway with Aurelan, looking at the Kirk brothers with concern.

Jim takes that moment to push Samuel away from him, not caring that he nearly knocks his older brother to the ground. He brushes past his sister-in-law and Mrs. Rand.

“Supper is about to be served!” the housekeeper tells him.

“I’m not hungry,” he finds himself saying.

Aurelan’s voice rings in his ears. “But James, you’ve been out all day!”

“I said I’m not hungry,” Jim shouts, letting go of the last of his control. He storms up the stairs to his room, grateful that there is no one in his path and slams the door shut before locking it.

Hurt and anger make his body tremble, though it does nothing to stop the tears from pooling down his cheeks. Jim drops his jacket on the floor to clutch his stomach, sucking in deep breaths as he stumbles to the center of the room.

He falls on his knees, ignoring the pain that spikes through his legs, and swallows back a sob. Jim feels his breath hitching and catching on the insides of his airway, causing him to shudder.

_Everything’s going to be all right, son._

Jim lies on his side, curling into a tight ball as he pretends not to hear Christopher’s last words running through his head.

 

* * *

 

Morning comes when Jim finally emerges from his room, carrying a fresh change of clothes and his toiletries under his arm.

His eyes are crusty and mouth is cotton dry. A foul taste lingers from the multiple times Jim swallowed down the bile that crept up from his stomach.

His body does him no favors as he spent the entire night on the hardwood floor of his room, curled into a ball as Jim tried in vain to ward off another fit of nerves. There is an ache in his back that spreads to his shoulders and neck, a clear reminder that the floor is not a bed.

Jim creeps down the hallway to the bathroom, where he shuts the door and draws water for a bath. While he waits for the tub to fill, he goes about shaving his stubble and brushing his teeth.

He starts feeling a bit more like himself once those tasks are complete and strips down until he is naked. Jim looks down at his body, wondering if it has changed like his mental state. He is still composed of lithe muscle, fair skin dotted with freckles and moles, and a dusting of light brown hair over various parts.

Jim shakes his head and goes to the tub, where he submerges himself in the water and sighs with relief. Its hotness fills his body with warmth, chasing away the aches and pains from the night before.

If only water could do the same for his memory.

As Jim cleans himself he thinks on Samuel’s words, knowing that they were said out of anger and concern. His older brother always had a temper like their mother, fiery and sudden, whereas Jim took after their more easygoing father.

There is truth to what Samuel said to him, even he knows that. Jim was always the cocky one, the brother who had something to prove, who craved attention.

Maybe it was his fault in trusting John so wholeheartedly and not realizing that something was amiss. If he had only listened to Christopher, who voiced his concerns, perhaps his godfather would still be alive.

A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts. Jim lowers his washcloth into the tub, ridding it of soap, and glances over his shoulder. “Come in,” he calls.

“Are you decent, Scout?” Aurelan asks as she pokes her head through the door.

Jim chuckles at the question, draping the cloth over his groin. “I’m in the bathtub,” he says. “What do _you_ think?”

“You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before,” his sister-in-law states as she walks in, shutting the door behind her. Her heels click against the tiles as she goes to the toilet, where she sits down on the cover like Greta Garbo or Marlene Dietrich. “I was just coming to check on you when I saw that you weren’t in your room.”

He shrugs. “Well, I’m here,” he tells her, gesturing to the bathroom.

“I can see that,” Aurelan replies, studying him with her warm brown eyes. She slumps her shoulders and sighs. “Jimmy, Samuel told me what he said to you last night…”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Good, then you’ll let me talk for a change,” she counters with a stern expression. Aurelan crosses her arms over her ample bosom, raising a perfectly arched brow. “He’s worried about you. We all are, but Samuel had no right to yell at you the way he did.”

Jim stares at the water, watching it ripple over his body.

“He and I were lucky, being assigned to desk work. We didn’t see the combat you did, just the newsreels at the movie theaters,” Aurelan explains. “Even then, we only were shown what the media wanted us to see.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jim murmurs under his breath.

Aurelan grins at the comment. “What happened to Christopher _wasn’t_ your fault,” she tells him. “You do realize that?”

Jim shrugs again, uncertain of what he believes. “I don’t know,” he admits in a whisper. He glances up at his sister-in-law, who seems sad.

“You had a bad evening,” Aurelan says as she stands up, fetching a dried towel for the young man’s use and leaving it within his reach. “Perhaps you will feel better tomorrow.”

He swallows, trying to ignore the tears that prick his eyes. “I can’t make any promises, Aurelan.”

She comes over to the tub and bends down to press her lips against Jim’s temple, not caring if her red lipstick smears. “I know, darling,” Aurelan says, ruffling his damp hair. “But at least try.”

 

* * *

 

Like a teenager, Jim finds himself sneaking out of the house in the depths of the night with only a flashlight to guide his way.

He leaves a note on his bed, telling whoever discovers it before his return that he’s gone to the standing stones to watch the sunrise.

There is no tree to climb out of, just a doorway near the kitchens. Jim is careful when he opens it and slips outside, inhaling the moist air.

The moon and his flashlight take him on the path towards the standing stones, which take on an otherworldly appear at nightfall. As Jim arrives on the hilltop, he sees fog curling around the stones, caressing each one like a lover.

He glances down at his watch, shining his flashlight on the face to see the time. It’s nearly four in the morning - two hours until sunrise.

Jim wanders into the center of the stones, noticing the silence that follows him and how the fog does not touch the circle’s core. It flows around it as if it even knows what mysteries the standing stones hold. For the briefest of moments, Jim wonders if he is trespassing here.

Nothing out of the ordinary happens, at least not at first.

A sound comes from one of the stones, a humming that is not unpleasant to the ears. The pitch changes, weaving itself into a haunting melody as it grows louder.

Jim shines his light around to discover the source of the noise as he searches the perimeter until he comes to the tallest stone.

The melody is at its loudest, drawing the young man in like a siren’s song. Jim extends his empty hand and presses his palm against the surface of the standing stone, feeling its uneven texture on his skin. He looks up at the top, watching as the moonlight soaks its highest point.

Jim drops the flashlight to touch the stone with his other hand for reasons he does not recall, only that it feels natural to do so.

As soon as his palm joins its twin on the stone, Jim is pulled from his place and begins to fall.

The sensation is never-ending…at least until he can remember no more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Graphic depictions of physical and psychological torture are the bulk of this chapter. Please read with caution.

He recalls a time when he was a child and climbing trees with Samuel and their friends.

They were perched on various branches, whooping and hollering as young boys are wont to do. Jim, being the smallest of the lot, had more to prove. He surpassed his brother, going several branches higher without bothering to look down.

“You’re gonna get stuck, Jimmy!” Samuel warned. “And I’m not gonna help you!”

The other boys laughed and shook the tree, an apple tree if Jim remembers correctly, egging him on to go higher. Determined and full of courage, he did, reaching for the next branch and the next. Jim’s fingers barely grazed the branch just several inches from him when he heard the crack.

Everything began in slow motion as he began to fall. Then it sped up and happened so quickly that Jim never had the luxury of being frightened until he landed on the ground, breaking his arm. He didn’t feel like Tarzan or John Carter, flying through the atmosphere. He rolled away from the tree and found himself staring up at the branches and leaves, watching them sway in the breeze as if nothing had transpired.

Jim does that now, though the apple tree is replaced by a looming standing stone and the cool Scottish morning. His body is not broken or covered in scratches, though his head hurts like something fierce. The sunlight isn’t helping matters.

Sunlight.

Morning.

He sits up, ignoring the lingering ache and dizziness as Jim hops to his feet. _Sam_ , he thinks as he scrambles for the discarded flashlight. It doesn’t take much for him to realize that his older brother will probably slaughter Jim if he finds his room empty, even if a note has been left. In his panic, Jim kicks the flashlight out of his reach and watches it as it rolls down the hillside. “Dammit,” he hisses.

He goes after it, chasing the flashlight down into the forest. Jim loses sight of it for a moment, uncertain of where the device disappeared to. He plants his fists on his hips and searches the area while muttering curses under his breath.

It is just like him to lose something that doesn’t even belong to him. If Jim had hoped to make it back to the house without anyone being the wiser about his nighttime excursion, they are now dashed by a fucking flashlight.

“Typical,” Jim whispers as he goes down an embankment, or at least attempts it. The soil is too wet and his footwear slips easily, sending Jim to the ground. A shout passes through his lips as he falls, tumbling down the rest of the slope until Jim comes to a stop at the bottom. He allows his heart rate to go back to normal before sitting up, feeling bits of mud and muck sticking to his slacks and jacket.

Something wet is on his face, more mud as it turns out when Jim goes to wipe it. He is shaking his hand to remove the glob from his skin when a popping sound causes him to stop. The echo dies as quickly as it came, almost like gunfire. Jim rises to his feet, his head turning in both directions. “It’s too early to be hunting,” he mumbles to himself as he goes to check his watch. Which has stopped working apparently, leaving the hands frozen at four fifteen in the morning. “Great,” Jim sighs, tapping the glass face with his fingers before bringing it up to his ear. He doesn’t hear the mechanisms ticking away either.

However, he does hear another pop. It’s louder this time and far closer than before. Jim lurks quietly through his immediate surroundings, trying to gauge the origins of the sound when a stampede comes barreling at him. He barely has time to turn his head when Jim is thrown to the ground, landing with a hard thud that knocks the wind out of him. He’s stunned for a moment before his mind kicks in and he sucks in the chilly morning air. Jim coughs, trying to ignore the bruises blooming all over his body as he curses his rotten luck. Perhaps Samuel was right and he _does_ have a knack for trouble.

A groan not belonging to himself causes Jim to whirl around and nearly sends him back to the ground. He finds himself staring at a man who is staggering to his feet. The stranger’s dark, damp hair falls on his face until he brushes it back with muddy fingers. It does not seem to matter to him that there are pieces of dirt and leaves now stuck on him. He wipes his hands down the front of his jacket, something military issued if Jim’s eyes are not failing him, and against a sweater layered underneath.

Breath hitches in Jim’s throat as he realizes this man is armed with a rifle strapped to his body. It’s not like any weapon he’s seen during his time in the army. Its sleek black body is too high powered to be American or English…perhaps this man is a German sympathizer.

Whoever this man may be, he has realized that he’s not alone. The stranger looks at Jim with a startled expression, his hazel eyes growing wide like a cartoon owl. His pale, hairy face—that really ought to have a date with a razor—is covered with smears of grim and drying mud, probably from running into Jim. The stranger opens his mouth to speak when they are interrupted by yelling, gunfire, and the sound of an approaching plane.

Both of them look towards the sky just in time to see a helicopter fly overhead. Except it doesn’t look like the type of helicopter that Jim has seen. Gone are the rotors, replaced with strangely lit circles on the bottom of the craft. They send out pulses that cause the air around them to visibly quiver.

“What are you doing?” the stranger shouts.

Much to Jim’s surprise, the deep, rumbling voice that comes out of him is American. He finds his jaw going slack and loses the ability to form words.

“Run, kid!” the man bellows over the sound of the aircraft. “ _Run_!”

For reasons unknown to him, Jim listens to the stranger and takes off in the opposite direction, heading back in the direction of Keith MacMhòrdha. His heart pounds against his chest as he thinks of Samuel and Aurelan, as well as Mrs. Rand and their host.

Are they alright?

Did they manage to find somewhere to hide?

Are they still alive?

Jim swallows down the panic coming with that last thought and continues on his way, ignoring how low hanging tree branches and shrubs snag on his clothing or scratch his skin.

Over the sound of his heavy breathing, he spots a group of men wearing all black and carrying weapons. It’s a small mercy that none of them spot Jim through the trees as they continue on their way. He still ducks behind a bush, watching these strange men as they march.

Jim takes a step back, snapping a twig under the sole of his shoe and earns the attention of one of the soldiers. He freezes as the man glances around, searching for an intruder. He covers his mouth, trying to conceal his breathing in an effort not to give himself away, and waits for this man to pass. The man ends up leaving, yelling for his comrades to wait, and his departure allows Jim to release a shuddering exhale.

He looks around at his surroundings before continuing on his way to the house, running as fast as he can. All he can think about is his family and their safety, praying to every deity that they are alright or that this is just a nightmare.

Jim trips over a tree root, proving that he’s not dreaming as he didn’t wake up when he fell and the pain that spikes from his scraped palms is real enough. He picks himself up, remembering his training, and hurries along, spotting the tiny hill that conceals Keith MacMhòrdha behind it. As Jim approaches it, he realizes that he should be able to see the towers that stand on the east and west ends of the house.

He slows his pace as he climbs up the hill, trying to ignore how his body shakes and how his mind runs through endless possibilities as to why _this_ is happening to him.

Jim finds his answer in the form of ruins that stand in place of Keith MacMhòrdha, whose stone structure lies in shredded splinters. What stands is crumbling and filled with heavy desolation. There is no smoke or smoldering ashes, just the quiet of devastation long gone.

The scene brings Jim to his knees as he sinks to the ground, his whole entire being filling with unadulterated shock. He feels the tips of his fingers going cold while his breath comes out in anxious rasps. For a moment, he thinks of the devastation seen during the Blitz in London. He hadn’t been there, but he had heard the tales and seen the pictures.

“Sam,” Jim whispers. “Samuel.” He staggers to his feet and takes off running towards the dilapidated structure, screaming his brother’s name.

A logical part of him knows that there is no way that Keith MacMhòrdha could have destroyed without his knowledge. Surely the explosion would have woken Jim from his stupor, not to mention the sight or smell of smoke. Perhaps the Germans have developed a new weapon, something that will annihilate everything in its wake without so much as a sound. It’s nearly impossible, but it’s only thing Jim can come up with.

He sets foot through the garden gate, or what’s left of it at least, and stops in his tracks.

In the wreckage of the house stands a man. He is wearing all black like the others Jim saw in the forest, though he dons a heavy black coat that skims the tops of his boots.

Having heard Jim, the man turns to reveal himself. A man of reptilian features, intense and pale under a shock of wavy black hair. His skin is dark, almost nut brown from the sun, sharply contrasting with his glacial eyes.

“John,” Jim manages to choke out, feeling his body battling with pure rage and raw hurt that festers from his stomach to his throat, threatening to close it.

The man’s eyes flash like a lightning bolt, crinkling as his lips curl into a sneer. It has Jim so mesmerized that he doesn’t realize that someone is behind him until the butt of their weapon connects with the back of his head, sending him back to darkness.

 

* * *

 

Jim fights a disconnect between his body and his brain, neither obeying him as he tries to open his eyes.

He must groan, for someone makes a fussing noise. They run their fingers through his hair, the motion soothing and reminding him of his mother back home.

“There, there,” John coos through the receding darkness. “It’s quite alright, James.”

That voice reminds Jim of a serpent as it winds its way up his body, making his skin itch uncomfortably. Jim goes to move away, only to be stopped by restraints digging into his wrists. It’s only then he realizes that he’s tied to a chair. Jim blinks, wincing at the bright light hanging above, and jerks away when his eyes fall upon his former friend.

“Is that the way to greet an old lover?” John inquires, looking hurt. He reaches out to tilt Jim’s chin up so they can stare at each other.

If this man notices his shaking, he certainly doesn’t give it away. John has always been good at concealing his true feelings. Knowing this now makes Jim sick to his stomach.

“Where’s Sam?” he demands.

John raises a brow, unable to hide his surprise. “Samuel?” he questions. “Your brother Samuel? Why, James, he’s not here. You should know that.”

“What did you do to him?” Jim says through his gritted teeth. The sensation of his former lover’s fingers dusting over his skin makes him recoil. “Don’t touch me!”

This does nothing to dissuade John, who grabs his chin with an unforgiving grip and holds Jim in place as he caresses his cheek. “You used to like it when I touched you,” he comments wistfully. “Do you remember our dalliances in the barracks? Hiding the shadows to conceal our misdeeds and our hunger for one another?”

“Get your _hands_ off _me_ ,” Jim growls. His skin starts to burn, showing his barely contained emotions.

John’s fingernails dig into his skin. “You _will not_ tell _me_ what to do,” he hisses back, causing Jim to squeak as his nails cut into him. “How did you find me?”

“I don’t know.”

The man’s expression goes cold. “You don’t know?” he repeats, scowling. “What do you mean you don’t know? Or you won’t tell me?”

“I _don’t_ know, alright?” Jim snaps back. “I just…”

John waits for his answer, sending a shiver down Jim’s spine. “You just what?”

“I just don’t know,” he finally says, defeated. Jim sags in his bonds, lowering his eyes so he can look anywhere _but_ John’s face.

“That answer does not suffice, James,” he tells Jim, letting go of his face. John begins to pace, staying behind him. “I know how I got here, but you… there is no plausible explanation unless you’re working with someone.”

Jim swallows down his fear. “I’m not working with anyone.”

“Your brother was a part of the Manhattan Project, was he not? Surely his superiors could use someone like you—smart, capable, filled with revenge,” John continues, ignoring the younger man’s objections. He sets a hand on Jim’s shoulder, allowing it to lie harmlessly. “I will ask you again—how did you find me, James?”

He glances at John’s hand, remembering how it used to touch him so carefully as if Jim was made of something precious. Now it only makes him feel revulsion. “I was with my brother and sister-in-law at Keith MacMhòrdha. Aurelan’s ancestors used to live there…”

John pushes away from him and Jim falls silent, watching as he goes to a metal door and knocks upon it.

The door swings open and a soldier pokes his head in. He and John speak in low voices, too low for Jim to understand. The soldier shrugs and pulls out a strange notebook from his back pocket, which he taps with his fingers.

The notebook begins to glow, coating both men with blue light. Curious, Jim watches them as they peer at the contents, only looking away when John and the soldier glance at him.

His former lover nods his head and the other man leaves.

“What was that?” Jim asks as John approaches him. He twists his bound wrists and winces at the bite of the rope that holds them in place. “What was that thing in his hands?”

John looms in front of him, observing Jim with those pale eyes. He doesn’t say a word, nor does his expression change.

“John,” he intones, fumbling over the words. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

His question gets met with a sucker punch that makes Jim’s eye feel like it’s about to pop out of his skull. The blow causes his head to snap back.

“ _Now_ ,” John snarls over Jim’s pained moans. He grabs him by the hair, forcing him to look John in the eye. “I can make this very painful for you, James. Tell me the truth!”

Jim cries out at the ache of his hair being pulled. “I don’t know!” he shouts as his eyes start to sting with tears. “John, I don’t know!”

He is slapped across the face several times, one of the blows splitting his lip. Jim feels his cheeks becoming damp with tears and blood alike. “John!” he screams just as his former lover raises his hand. “I’m telling you the truth! I don’t know what’s happening!” The door opens again and he’s lifted from the chair only to be shoved on top of a table. Jim grunts as his stomach collides with the dirty surface.

“You don’t know, you say?” John asks mockingly.

Other men begin to laugh as Jim struggles to move. Someone—whether it be a soldier or John himself—holds him with an iron grip.

“Gentlemen, show our guest how we jog one’s memory,” he says, sending a feeling of dread through Jim’s body.

 

* * *

 

Time has no meaning, at least not at the present moment.

Only pain, growing and spreading and taking over his being.

Jim tries not to move, afraid to cry out when the agony sets in. Everything hurts, from tips of his toes to the top of his head. The brush of his clothing is like a burn and even his hair pains him. He’s glad his eyelids are swollen shut, the right worse than the left, and that he cannot see himself. The picture inside Jim’s mind is a motif of reds, purples, blues, and blacks like the Picasso painting _Les Noces de Pierrette_.

He had seen a photograph of it once in one of his college art history textbooks. Jim had taken the class to impress a girl only to find an interest in art. He planned to go to Europe once he was finished with his degree, but then Pearl Harbor happened and Jim enlisted.

The sweet memory of his life before the war brings tears to his eyes, causing them to ache. He shudders, swallowing down saliva and snot.

“I had forgotten how stubborn you can be,” John whispers into his ear. He pets Jim, hushing him when he cries out. “There, there, my dearest. It’s just me.”

He fights the surge of nausea in his stomach, not wanting to give John the satisfaction or pleasure of seeing Jim vomit.

“Are you thirsty?” he asks, pressing a cup against Jim’s lips.

Liquid sloshes around and from what his sense of smell tells him, it’s water. Jim allows the cup to be tilted so that the contents fall into his abused mouth. It’s room temperature, but it’s the sweetest drink he’s ever had.

“You’ve had a rough go of it,” John tells him, watching as Jim drinks until the cup is empty. He strokes Jim’s bottom lip with his thumb, pausing over a cut. “If you tell me what you know, I _promise_ to help you, James.”

A sob escapes and Jim finds himself unable to stop.

“Hush now,” John assures as he brushes away Jim’s tears. “It will be all right, my darling. Just tell me the truth is all. Aren’t you tired of these games we’ve played?”

“You used me,” Jim croaks, sniffling. “You used me and got Christopher killed.”

He expects to be hit or punched, but nothing comes. Only the sound of John’s voice. “James, you have to understand…it was something I _needed_ to do. I never meant to hurt you or your godfather.”

“But you did,” he counters, his voice breaking with sadness. Jim whimpers until he’s able to speak once again. “Why did you do it?”

For all of John’s bravado, he is quite thoughtful with his response, as if he knew this day would come and that he would have to explain himself to Jim. “The Führer’s ideas of racial hygiene were almost groundbreaking—the cleansing of others so that the Aryan race could rule the world. But I began to wonder why only _them_ , why not only the best and brightest? Why kill specimens that didn’t match his proscribed aesthetics? What about their bodies and minds and not the color of their skin?”

“He killed innocent people…” Jim whispers.

John nods in agreement. “I cannot deny that,” he says. “But you must understand, James, that in order for there to be peace, there must be death. But only the _right_ kind. The kind of demise that allows only the fittest to survive.”

“You’re talking about mass genocide,” Jim says, shaking his head. “Murdering people who are less superior.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” John replies. “I wanted to sway the Führer’s views on this and the only way I could was if he defeated the Allies. If he had been able to do so, we could have cultivated a utopia.”

John’s madness finally hits him and Jim breaks down, sobbing until he’s gagging on split. He swallows a lungful of oxygen in an effort to calm himself, but if he were lucid enough to admit it, Jim feels as if his heart is breaking.

How could he have been so blinded by this man’s affections that he never saw the monster lurking underneath? How could he have fallen in love with him?

“But I have a second chance now,” John tells him. “I’ve been given the opportunity to make this right, James, and if you tell me what I want to know, you can join me. We can rule the new world together, don’t you see? You will be my consort and I will be Khan.”

Jim rolls his head, confused. “A second chance?” he asks. “What second chance? John, where are we? What’s going on?”

“Tell me what I want to know,” John growls, shaking him with each word.

A flare of courage soothes his panic. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” Jim states, forcing himself to look upon John’s face through swollen eyelids.

He’s grabbed and thrown down onto the table, held there by John’s mass. Someone unties only one of his hands and presses it against the flat surface. 

“Now,” John roars, grabbing one of Jim’s fingers. “Why are you here?”

He hears the snap of his bones before the torment of pain that leaves him dizzy and screaming. Jim howls, not caring who can hear him.

“Why are you here, James?”

Another finger breaks, followed by another and another. Jim struggles against John, wailing and pleading for him to stop this torture. His face becomes covered with mucus, tears, sweat, and blood—all of it dripping down onto the table.

“Tell me!” John yells into his ear, breaking the fourth finger.

Jim cries out, “I don’t know!”

“Yes, you do!” John counters as one of the soldiers hand him something. Jim can’t see it, but he can feel the motion as John moves against his back. “Stop lying to me, James!”

Red hot pain fills his hand, like a fire poker being shoved into flame. It causes so much torment that Jim can’t even scream. His mouth hangs open as John hits his hand with a hammer, crushing all of the bones in its path.

“Take him outside,” John orders, letting go of Jim’s body. He does nothing to stop the younger man from falling to the ground. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

Dazed and shaking, Jim finds himself being hauled to his feet and dragged out of the room. He is dead weight between the soldiers escorting him and forcing him up a series of creaking stairs. All around him are the catcalls and boisterous yelling of men and women. They taunt him with cruel words and even crueler promises as Jim is led across a platform.

His arms are shackled upon his head, pulling uncomfortably at his abused body. Jim groans and presses the side of his face into his bicep. Someone pulls his head back by his hair while what’s left of his clothing is cut from his body, leaving him half naked for the crowd. Their jeering turns to chanting as another person joins him on the platform. Khan, they say, the word like a litany filled with hope and victory.

“I have to punish you now,” John whispers over the crowd’s cheers.

Jim only groans in reply, unable to form words.

“Do you hear them, James?” he asks, maniacally. “Do you hear how they want me to lead them to a new world? A better world.”

He doesn’t hear what else John says if he does speak. A crack punctures the air, then another. It takes several moments for Jim to realize that it’s a whip and its’ target is his bare back. His vision whites out and he falls into a strange space inside his head, something Jim has heard of from other soldiers who were injured. Instead of feeling pain, they drift off to another place—somewhere that he likens to morphine. Wherever Jim is, it’s dull and sweet and covers him with a muzzy sensation. _Perhaps this is what dying feels like_ , he thinks to himself. Warmth brushes against his exposed skin while his surroundings become abnormally quiet. It reminds him of a more sinister version of the standing stones.

Jim dares to open his eyes, surprised to find that someone is standing next to him. They are reaching for the shackles that keep him in place and catch his falling body when they come loose.

“Hey! Hey kid,” they call to him, shaking him as gently as possible. “Look at me.”

He lifts his eyelids, not realizing they closed. He finds himself staring up at the man in the woods.

At least Jim thinks it’s him.

“Atta boy,” the man says. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

Jim smells smoke before he notices the flames over the man’s shoulder licking at the evening sky. He is being carried now, the movements fast paced. Jim swallows slowly, wincing at the soreness of his throat as he’s placed inside the back of a vehicle, whose engine is running.

The man hovers above him. “You got a name, kid?”

“Jim,” he replies in a shattered voice. “Jim Kirk.”

Silence follows and it’s beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

Rain taps against the window, though the sound drowned out by the patrons of the bar.

He’s sitting in a corner with John, just the two of them huddled together in the darkness. Christopher left hours ago, citing his old age and an early meeting. The alcohol is sweet, but the tales John speaks into Jim’s ear are sweeter. Being around John lowers his inhibitions as he sits with his legs spread as his hand slides up Jim’s inseam. “Now the French adore unconventional lifestyles,” John slurs as he kneads Jim’s thigh. His warm breath curls against Jim’s cheek, smelling of chouchen. “That whole practice of few permanent ties, an existence dedicated to the arts, free love…they cherish it.”

Jim tilts his glass, shaking to get the last of the alcohol. “Cherish it? What about the English?” he teases. He feels John’s fingertips nearing his bulge. “How do _you_ feel about unconventional lifestyles, Major Harrison?”

“I enjoy them,” John replies, snaking his hand up higher and settling in the crease of Jim’s leg. He nuzzles the sensitive skin of Jim’s neck with the end of his nose and in its wake drags his lips over it. “I believe you do as well, Captain Kirk.”

He leans closer to the Englishman, watching him in the poor lighting. John’s face seems to have a luminosity, reminding Jim of a star in the night sky. “I've been known to indulge in them from time to time,” he admits, huskily.

“Only from time to time?” he chuckles. He props his free arm on top of the booth seat, using it to cushion his head as he leans against the heel of his palm. His pale eyes twinkle as John gazes upon Jim. “Are they drunken fumbles in the alleyway or blowjobs in a men’s lavatory? Something meaningless that you can forget about the next morning?”

Jim blushes at this because John has him pegged, ever since they were introduced in Christopher’s tent and shook hands. “Maybe,” he states.

“Have you ever been inside another man, James?” the Englishman intones, the words beautiful instead of lewd as they pass through his generous lips. John smiles when Jim shakes his head. “Has another man been inside of you?”

He fidgets in his seat, glancing around to see if anyone notices them. John uses that moment to palm his groin, pressing down against Jim’s erection and rubbing it teasingly. He shivers at the touch and releases a low moan, closing his eyes as he does so. “John,” Jim sighs.

“Do you want me to fuck you, James?” he asks, kneading his length through his slacks. John traces the shell of Jim’s ear, moving lower until he’s nipping at the span of skin under his jaw. “Do you want me to show you how beautiful it can be?”

Jim doesn’t remember his exact answer or how they end up in John’s room, but the moment the Englishman’s lips press a delicately to his own, he sighs with relief. John places a hand on his chest, covering the steady beating of his heart as John deepens the kiss. Their tongues twine around one another as fingers thread through the hair at Jim’s nape. It’s searing, breathless, and feels like he’s been destined to be John’s. He doesn’t want to pull away to breathe, he wants the taste of John on his tongue and his body curled around his own.

John pulls back, his fingers still buried within Jim’s golden strands, and goes to thumb his lower lip. “Look at you,” he comments, awestruck. His pale eyes are searching the younger man’s face as he massages the back of Jim’s neck. “Where shall I begin?”

He starts by removing the younger man’s clothing: undoing buttons, unzipping his slacks, pulling the flimsy material of his undershirt over his head. John’s hands and lips never leave Jim’s body, opting to caress and kiss the skin he exposes. And Jim just lets him, basking under John’s attention and the way John turns him into a hot, panting mess. His legs are trembling by the time he’s stripped naked for John.

“If only Botticelli had seen you before he painted Venus,” John murmurs as his fingers make an invisible path down Jim’s body, starting from his collarbone. He pauses to plunk at one of the younger man’s nipples, watching it peak to a hard point. John glances up at Jim when the latter gasps, clearly delighted by his reaction. “I dare say that he would have changed his mind.”

Jim’s cock twitches. “You think he would have preferred a farm boy to the goddess of love?”

“Yes,” John states plaintively, pressing his lips to the young man’s skin. His front teeth graze over his left pectoral muscle and continue going down. He sinks to his knees, kissing Jim’s abdomen during his descent, and stops just above the start of his iliac furrow. John runs his fingernail over the cut lines and glances up at Jim through his dark lashes. “Farm boy, demigod, a charming prince…even a blind man would see how beautiful you are.”

The words flow like poetry over his body and stick to him seductively like honey. Jim watches as John’s mouth marks his skin, leaving mouth shaped bruises as stepping stones towards his cock. His arousal is warm and coiling in his gut, spreading slowly through his core.

When the Englishman takes him into his mouth, Jim cries out. It’s all slick heat and suction that takes him down to the root and back to the tip. The younger man paws helplessly at the wall, trying in vain to dig his fingernails into the plaster.

Jim becomes lost in the sensations because that’s all it is—just feeling, nerves, sparks of fission—racing up and down his spine. It spreads to his other extremities, igniting them like a wick. He’s glad that they aren’t in the barracks or those canvas tents where you can hear everything. And that he’s here with John and at his mercy. Jim looks down by accident, coming undone by the scene of the Englishman’s lips wrapped around his cock, all cherry red and stretched out.

His release gathers in John’s mouth and is swallowed without complaint. In fact, his lover seems to enjoy the act and takes to licking up the remnants of Jim’s semen until he yelps from sensitivity. A feral grin appears on John’s face, creasing the skin around his eyes, and he stands to start divesting himself of his clothing.

Like he had done with Jim, John goes about this task slowly. He keeps his glacial eyes locked with the younger man’s, exposing his own skin as each garment drops. Until John is just as naked as Jim. He’s comprised of snow-white flesh and raven colored hair dusting his sturdy body. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until the Englishman closes the distance between them. John curls his fingers around Jim’s nape once again and brings their lips together.

Suddenly he finds himself on his back, pressed against the mattress with John between Jim’s thighs, slowly feeding his cock to the younger man’s loose, slick hole. The first thrust punches the air out of his lungs and fills him with a dull pain. “We were just standing,” Jim gasps against John’s shoulder. He lets out a groan and tilts his head against the pillows. “Oh god…”

The older man chuckles and reaches to brush Jim’s hair off his forehead. “Shh, I’ve got you, James.”

Once John’s fully inside of him, Jim releases a heavy sigh. He lies there, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of fullness from being penetrated. The Englishman moves his hips slowly, testing out the waters until the captain makes a sound of pleasure.

John controls the pace of their coupling, choosing various depths and angles to pull out Jim’s pleasure until he’s hard once more.

Their bodies become slick with sweat and their moans echo off the walls. He claws at John’s back, begging for John’s next thrust to land just right and send him over the edge. His pleas are met with quiet assurances that Jim will be taken care of but in due time. The time does come eventually, and he finds himself falling into the icy blue pools of John’s eyes when he cums between their bodies. Jim’s cries are muffled by the Englishman’s mouth in a sloppy kiss as his hips go staccato. John erupts, coating the younger man’s passage with his seed with quiet grunts.

“Beat me daddy eight to the bar,” Jim whispers as his lover rolls off him. The mattress moves as its weight is redistributed when John leans over to grab his carton of cigarettes and a matchbox.

The Englishman laughs around a fresh cigarette while he strikes a match. He lights the butt, puffing on it for a few moments until it’s embers and smoke is curling out the end. John huddles into the curve of Jim’s body and drapes his free arm around his waist. “Have I done right by you, James?” he inquires after a long drag.

“We may need to do it again so I can be sure,” Jim teases, threading their fingers on his belly. It’s slick with his cum and sweat, but at the current time, it doesn’t seem to matter.

John smiles down at him and moving close until he’s hovering over the younger man. “Is that so?” he inquires, licking his lips with his tongue.

Jim nods with a grin of his own.

“If we must,” the Englishman sighs, brushing the tip of his nose against Jim’s and kissing him.

 

* * *

 

A heavy fog shrouds him, keeping him bogged down. 

Nothing to see. Nothing to hear. Nothing to feel. Nothing but darkness.

Jim’s hearing comes first. His ears fill with the buzz of machines, a steady rhythm whose shrill sound reminds him of a teapot or whistle, and the clicking of feet near his head. The low murmur of talking, which Jim strains to hear and make sense of, comes next. Anything to give him an idea of where he is. His sight returns, though his eyes are slow to open, once they do, they reveal a pristine concrete floor. Jim spies a sliver of flesh, his arm, dangling over the edge of a cold, unforgiving surface. The sensation of his other limb pressing against his body, giving him comfort that he still has it attached to him.

“Hand me the forceps,” a voice says.

“Which one?”

There is a scrape of a sole against the ground and a man’s hum. “Toothed,” the voice replies. “Hold this, will you?”

Something pulls at Jim’s back, twisting the skin and releasing. Even though his mind is muddled, he realizes that it should hurt…whatever they’re doing to him.

He feels body heat warming his bare back as someone bending over him. “Four or five point?” another voice asks.

“Four,” the first voice answers. “Syringe.”

Jim’s breathing hitches in his throat as his eyes widen, remembering John…

_John._

Panic shoots through him like a lightning bolt and he moves, shifting his body over whatever he’s lying upon. Metal, Jim realizes. “Stop,” he pleads, his voice coming out so softly—quieter than a whisper—that even he strains to hear it. “Please stop.” These people don’t notice that Jim’s awake or if they do, they keep on ignoring him. They talk in clipped sentences, asking for various items such as gauze, scalpel, and needle driver when they aren’t tugging on his back. Sweat gathers on Jim’s upper lip as his mind fills with grotesque images. Suddenly he feels sharp and stronger, much stronger than before.

“Len,” one of the voices warns having noticed that Jim is awake.

He takes that moment to attempt to flee and scrambles against the metal surface, blindly grabbing for the edge. “Stop!” Jim weakly commands. A stranger’s hand goes to grab him, only for him to bat it away. “Stop touching me!”

“Shit!” the first voice curses. There is a loud clattering of fallen objects and the persistent shrill sound that grows faster and louder.

Another hand reaches for him while Jim struggles to push himself up. “No!” he yells when they hold his arms down with a gloved hand. “No! I don’t know anything!”

More hands latch onto him, pushing Jim down against the cold surface and holding him in place. He realizes that he’s completely naked, having lost his slacks somewhere between John’s whip and wherever the hell he’s been taken now.

“I need a sedative! Hurry!” yells the first voice, a man’s voice. He is closer than he was before, practically in Jim’s ear.

He finds himself screaming for help, ignoring the pain in his throat and the tears that mix in with the sweat on his face. Jim keeps fighting against the people restraining him, kicking out his limbs when they come loose only to be pinned down once more.

“Hey,” the man says gently. He has a palm covering the back of Jim’s neck. It’s the man from the woods, the one who told him to run and led him straight into John’s arms. Trembling in fear, Jim shakes his head. “Do you remember me?” the stranger asks. His eyes flicker above Jim’s head before he looks back at the younger man.

Jim jerks again, releasing a sound that could be a whimper or another scream. He kicks his feet, banging his toes against the metal when the man squeezes the back of his neck.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he assures, releasing his slack grip. His eyes move again and he nods. “You’re safe here, kid.”

The sting of a needle being embedded into the meat of his bicep startles Jim and is followed by a rush of coldness. It dies as quickly as it came and the needle is removed. Jim blinks and watches as the man’s face goes fuzzy for a moment, like static over a radio, before it goes back to normal. The sensation of being weighed down pulls at his body and everything around him seems to slow down, including the rise and fall of his eyelids as he tries to focus. Beyond the stranger’s shoulder, everything is shining and unreal. “What did you give me?” Jim asks, struggling to say the words. For a moment, he believes that the man didn’t understand him because his own speech rapidly begins to slur. Like he’s drunk, drunker than Jim has ever been.

The stranger hushes him. “Everything’s going to be all right, kid,” he tells him, unknowingly echoing the words of Christopher. He reaches out to brush Jim’s hair off his sweaty forehead. “Just go back to sleep.”

“No,” Jim mumbles, struggling to keep his eyes open. It’s becoming more difficult, like trying to run in a dream. The working parts are there, but they are sluggish and uncooperative.

The man looks concerned and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Just go—”

“—wait over there,” Christopher orders, wiping the muck from the brim of his hat.

He’s back in Ardennes-Alsace, where it’s dark and cold and sleet is coming down in frozen sheets. It soaks the material of Jim’s jacket and settles into his bones. At least his hands are kept warm by the gloves John loaned him. _It will be like I’m holding your hand_ , the Englishman told him as he slipped them over Jim’s hands. They were still inside of their shared tent; John had leaned over and kissed him, backing away with an easy grin. Jim follows the order and rushes out into the frozen rain only to find the cover from another tent. There are several men huddled around a fire, passing a flask between them.

“You want some, captain?” Gary Mitchell asks, holding up the item in his hand.

He shakes his head. “Not tonight,” Jim replies just as Christopher comes up behind him and taps his shoulder.

His godfather has a stern expression on his face when he silently beckons Jim to follow, which the younger man does without question. As soon as they are far enough away from prying eyes and ears, Christopher speaks, “How much do you trust Major Harrison?”

“What?” Jim squawks, stopping mid-step.

Christopher rolls his eyes in annoyance. “You heard what I said,” he bluntly replies.

“I know I heard you, but why would you ask that?” Jim asks. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, trying to keep himself warm. “It’s John for crying out!”

His godfather cranes his neck to survey the area before turning his steely gaze to Jim. “I received some intelligence,” Christopher explains. “About a certain major’s extracurricular activities with some Jerrys.”

“Huh? That’s ridiculous!”

“Which is why I’m asking _you_ , Jim,” his godfather interjects. He wraps an arm around his shoulders, leading Jim towards a row of empty tents. “So I’m going to ask you one more time—how much do you trust him?”

The captain fidgets uncomfortably, his vision shifting from Christopher’s face to the winter darkness that seems to swallow up the entire encampment. Sure John was enigmatic. Like a Byronic hero who kept people guessing  _but_ never to Jim. His lover told him everything, whispering his secrets into the younger man’s ear as they huddled up against one another under piles of blankets.

To Jim, he’s an open book.

But there have been a few times that John has come and gone from their tent in the middle of the night. At times, the rustling wakes Jim for a moment until his lover assures them that all is fine. He listens to the Englishman’s deep baritone, allowing its timbre to lull him back to sleep.

“Jim,” Christopher sighs. “I know you better than you think I do. Something’s on your mind. What is it?”

He licks his chapped lips and forces himself to swallow. “It might be nothing, but I’ve seen him come into the tent during the dead of night…saying he had a meeting or a call.”

“If Major Harrison had to meet with the brass, _I_ would have been notified,” Christopher tells him. He gives his godson a little shake. “Do you feel it’s a coincidence?”

Jim finds himself shaking his head as his heart constricts in his chest. “No,” he whispers, looking down at the mud and snow covered ground.

“Okay,” his godfather says. “I’ve got an emergency session in Daystrom.”

He nods, refusing to look up. Tears burn his eyes and threatening to spill down his cheeks before revealing Jim’s true feelings about John Harrison. He sniffles, rubbing his cheek against his jacket.

“This won’t touch you,” Christopher assures, stooping a bit to glance into Jim’s eyes. He gives his godson a wan smile and thumbs his chin. “Whatever Harrison did, it’s on him. I need to go. Will you be okay?”

Jim nods. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

As soon as Christopher heads off towards the Daystrom tent, Jim hurries towards his own in hopes to find John and question him before the brass does.

The sleet has turned into snow and starts to blanket the camp. It glitters under the moonlight that peeks through the clouds and if the situation weren’t so dire, Jim would stop to appreciate the beauty in front of him. He finds his tent and opens the flaps, finding it empty. John is nowhere to be seen, though the journal he is constantly writing in is face down on his cot. Jim removes his hat, allowing the melted sleet and snow to drip onto the canvas floor. It makes a trail as he walks over to John’s cot and flips the journal right side up.

The Englishman’s elegant scrawl covers the pages, detailing his daily life. The page in front of Jim tells him of the last time they made love in this very tent. The content is explicit, so much so that it makes him blush. John uses his pet name for him—my darling—instead of his given name to conceal the younger man’s identity.

_I should awfully like to go away with my darling, somewhere that is hot and coloured. A place where we can be together without this bleak war looming all around our very existence. My darling, I don’t tell you this often enough, but you are the one golden thing in my life. The very reason why I breathe. I love you, my darling. My darling, my darling._

Jim smiles at the words and goes to turn the page, stepping back when its contents come into plain view. He nearly drops the journal on the ground; his hands are shaking so hard that Jim wonders how he is able to hold anything.

A sick feeling makes itself at home in his stomach as he finds himself looking over German tactical plans. If the little bit of the language Jim is able to recall, they are plans to attack the encampment.

The flaps open and Jim spins on his heel to find himself staring at John’s pale face. The journal falls from his gloved hand and bounces off the bed before it ends up on the floor. John doesn’t say a word as Jim goes to pick it up, nor does he blink as the younger man holds the journal tightly to his chest. “You betrayed us,” Jim manages to say, his voice cracking with emotion. “Why?”

John tilts his head, inspecting the sight before him—of Captain Jim Kirk on the verge of a broken heart. “Because I am better,” he replies.

“At what?” Jim asks. A tear dislodges itself from his waterline and falls down his cheek.

John’s lips curl into a serpent’s grin, so dark and frightening that Jim believes that he’s staring at the devil himself. “ _Everything_.”

It’s then Jim goes out the back end of the tent, running as fast as he can towards Daystrom. The journal is clutched in his hand and he’s dropped his hat somewhere along the way. He can’t be bothered with it now that he knows where John’s allegiances lie. Jim bursts into the tent without asking permission to enter. A group of men stares at him, all of them bug-eyed at the intruder.

All of them except Christopher. His godfather frowns, brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. “James, not now,” he tells him.

“I have evidence,” Jim pants, breathless from his run and gut-wrenching encounter with John, “that Major Harrison is conspiring with the Nazis to ambush our forces.”

A hush falls upon the room as Christopher steps forward. “ _What_?”

“It’s happening tonight, Admiral,” the young man continues. “We need to alert our troops.”

The brass exchange a look between each other before one of them, an English gentleman with a heavy beard, nods. “Where are they coming from, son?”

“The western perimeter, sir,” Jim answers, handing the journal over. He doesn’t want another tangible connection to John, not if he can help it.

Someone takes it from him. “And where is Harrison?”

“I don’t know,” he lies as the brass files out, pushing him to the side.

Orders are being shouted beyond the flaps of the tent and replies echo into the night. Someone clasps Jim’s shoulder, anchoring him back to reality as they take him outside.

It’s Christopher, his face filled with both sadness and pride; sadness because of John’s deception and pride in his godson. They are in the middle of chaos, of troops going to their stations, of guns being loaded, of weapons being situated. “Hey,” Christopher calls, grinning at Jim. “Everything’s going to be all right, son.”

The explosion comes faster than he can blink, sending both him and Christopher through the air along with a dozen other officers. Wind is rushing past his ears, howling like a tornado, until it isn’t and Jim lands on the ground. The force knocks the wind from him, leaving the young man gasping and shaking. He feels something warm on his face and how slowly it trickles down his cheek. Jim wonders if he’s been injured and goes to wipe it away. When he looks at his hand, he realizes that one of his gloves are missing and there is blood darkly glinting on his fingers.

Jim turns to his side, dazed, and finds himself staring at Christopher’s blank expression. His gray eyes are unseeing, forever frozen in the face of death, while blood and dirt coat his lips. In mute terror, the younger man finds himself looking at his godfather’s insides spilling out of his stomach and before Jim can stop himself, he screams.

He doesn’t remember when he stops or if he does at all.

 

* * *

 

Someone lays a blanket over him when Jim comes back to himself.

He’s no longer in trapped in the horrors of that fateful night in Ardennes-Alsace. The cold is a bitter recollection, replaced by the warmth and comfort of a real bed. His injuries have been tended to, swaddled under layers of gauze or, in the case of his damaged hand, set in a brace while it heals. Even Jim’s body feels clean and he realizes that he’s clothed. The material of his borrowed t-shirt and sleep pants are soft against his skin, like the finest spun fabric. All of this certainly can’t John’s doing, for Jim reckons that his former lover would prefer him dead and gone rather than breathing.

Jim begins to force his still swollen eyelids to open, despite the pull of sleep still beckoning him to return to her arms. He feels groggy, reminding him of his hospitalization back in Riverside. Except his family isn’t keeping a vigil by his bedside; he’s alone.

Jim manages to get one lid open, it’s a crack at best, and finds himself lying at a slant. The position allows him to figure out his new surroundings, which is a dimly lit room. The natural light comes from a window, turning the white mortar walls a shade of pink from the setting sun. A fire crackles across from where Jim lies and he decides that whatever this place is, it’s too nice to be a prison cell. He turns his head, the movement sluggish, and feels a pillowcase brushing against his cheek. It surprises him and he idly wonders what John is playing at.

Until he remembers the man from the woods. The one with hazel eyes and dark hair not unlike his captor. Was he captured as well and is now being used to gain his freedom by playing Jim? Or has he been rescued by this stranger?

“You’re awake,” a male voice observes as a door clicks shut.

Jim moves slowly which doesn’t seem to bother his new acquaintance. Surprisingly, it’s a different man who greets him.

This man has skin the color of cream-filled coffee and grey-blue eyes with a square jaw. It is clear from his voice that he’s American like Jim, though he draws his words out like someone from the west coast. He approaches him with apprehension as if Jim was a cornered animal. He pulls out a strange device from his pocket and speaks into it. “Len, better come down here,” the man says, glancing at Jim.

“Comin’,” someone curtly replies.

Jim watches in awe as the man puts the device away. It’s not a radio—it’s far too small for that—and there’s no battery attached to it. He decides it would be best if he closes his eye, as a dull ache is beginning to bother him. Jim adjusts his head against the pillows and releases a tired sigh.

The door opens a few moments later and someone steps inside the room in a flurry of cursing and muttering. “What now?” the curt voice barks.

“He’s awake,” the dark skinned man states as Jim opens his eye once more.

The man from the woods appears, looking somewhat startled as he approaches Jim. That expression melts into one of seriousness, the kind Samuel used to get when it was time to get down to business.

 _Samuel,_ the young man thinks. _He must be losing his mind!_

“Are you in any pain?” the man questions as he reaches out of Jim’s limited vision. He folds a stethoscope over one of his broad shoulders, patiently waiting for the younger man’s reply.

Jim winces as he swallows, deciding that speaking may not be the wisest decision. He nods and finds the movement causes his neck to ache.

“Give his IV an injection of morphine,” the stranger tells the other man. He turns away from Jim, giving him a good view of his profile. “Not too much. I want to see if we can get some food for him before he goes back to sleep.”

“Who’s in the kitchen?” the other man asks.

A cool rush floods his arm, followed by the pain receding to a dull ache and a sour taste in his mouth. 

The conversation continues on and the stranger shrugs. “Ask Carol or Nyota,” he replies. “Get him something light though. Broth, maybe some toast. Nothing heavier than that.”

He clears his throat, earning the stranger’s attention. The man smiles at him; a dimple appears next to his mouth as he puts the earpieces of the stethoscope into the proper place.

“My name is Leonard McCoy,” he tells Jim while the other man steps out of the room. “I’m a doctor. Do you mind if I check your vitals?”

Once this man—Leonard—gains his permission, Jim finds a warm hand pulling at the collar of his shirt and the end of the medical instrument pressed against his skin. The doctor doesn’t ask him to breathe deeply, nor does he move the stethoscope around as other medical personnel is wont to do.

He furrows his brow in concentration as he listens to Jim’s heart and lungs. Leonard takes this task very seriously, checking and rechecking until he’s satisfied with his patient’s condition. The doctor assesses his blood pressure, the swollen tissue around his eyes, and his hand. Leonard handles the braced extremity with a ginger touch. “You broke all five fingers,” he explains, setting it upon Jim’s belly. “And shattered most of the bones in your hand. Well…Khan did.”

He flinches involuntarily at hearing the name John had chosen for himself. The reaction does not go unnoticed by the doctor, who looks upon Jim with sympathy.

“I also patched up your back,” Leonard continues. “You’re lucky we stormed the place when we did. I reckon that he would have gone to town on you. Do you remember?”

Jim shakes his head. Some of the memories of his time with John are sharp like a razor’s edge, dulling over time until there are only fragments. The snap of his fingers, the whip’s bite against his skin, John’s voice in his ear, the sound of his own sobs…

But Leonard doesn’t know that, just how Jim has no idea where he is. He can use this to his advantage, gain intel by playing an amnesiac.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” the doctor says after a long pause. “It’s okay if you can’t think of an answer; you’ve been through a lot, kid.”

A foreboding sigh passes through his nostrils and Jim nods. After all, Leonard went into the depths of hell to retrieve him from John’s grasp so he couldn’t be such a terrible person.

“Do you know your name?”

He shakes his head, hoping that the doctor isn’t a mind reader.

“Do you know where you are?”

Another shake. Jim figures he’s still in Scotland, but whether it’s near Inverness or somewhere else is the real question.

“Do you know what the date is?”

He answers no with his head, having lost track of them once he found John. For all Jim knows, he could have been held captive for hours, days, or weeks. Perhaps months, even.

The door opens again and he hears a woman’s voice. “Geoff told me that our patient is awake,” she says quite cheerfully. She’s English, that’s for certain, and unlike John, there is no thinly veiled malice in her words.

A tray is set down and he turns his head to see the owner of the voice. She is blonde, though not as pale as Mrs. Rand. Her hair is as yellow as a daisy petal and her eyes—blue _and_ green if Jim is seeing her correctly— are hidden behind glasses. This woman is the epitome of an English Rose, though he suspects there’s more to her than just being a pretty face.

“Could you give us a moment, Carol?” Leonard asks.

She nods, smiling sweetly at Jim. “Of course,” Carol replies, patting the doctor’s shoulder. “Should I let my father know that he’s awake, then?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he says. “But tell him that he’s in no condition to be bothered with questions. He needs to rest.”

Carol snorts. “Always the doctor,” she teases, nudging Leonard. She turns her gaze to Jim. “It’s nice to see you’re back with us.”

With that she leaves, shutting the door as gently as possible.

“That’s Carol Marcus,” Leonard explains as he reaches for the tray. “Her father, Alexander, is our squadron leader. She’s our weapons specialist and since my nurse got killed, she helps me and Geoff out when we need it.”

Jim watches the doctor cup a bowl in his hands while its steaming contains curl into the atmosphere. “Do you know my name?” he asks, surprised by how weak his voice sounds to his own ears.

“It’s Jim Kirk,” Leonard replies as he dips a spoon into the bowl. “Does it sound familiar to you? That’s what you told me when we got you out.”

He doesn’t say anything, which effectively answers the doctor’s question. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Doune, Scotland. Doune Castle, to be exact,” Leonard says. “It’s about three hours from where we first met. In Inverness.”

Jim realizes that he’s been moved to Central Scotland, over a hundred miles from where he should be. _Shit_ , he thinks. “I don’t remember…”

“And that’s just fine,” the doctor gently insists. “You’ve been through a lot. Hell, you can barely open your eyes!”

This statement makes Jim chuckle softly, surprising himself _and_ Leonard. The doctor gives him a lopsided grin as he begins to feed Jim spoonfuls of broth and a few bites of toast. It is a plain meal and he barely puts a dent in the bowl of broth. Jim finds that his stomach becomes quickly filled, something Leonard catches onto. He sets the bowl down on the tray, nodding in approval.

“Not too bad, all things considering,” the doctor states. “I’m going to adjust your medication and let you get some rest.”

Jim nods at this, as fatigue is starting to set in. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” he yawns.

“It’s against my Hippocratic Oath,” Leonard says, earning a confused look from his patient. “No, no one is going to hurt you. Not here, not while I’m still alive and breathing.”

The doctor says this with such meaning that it gives Jim a bit of comfort as he falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

“What was your brother’s mental state the day of his disappearance?” the detective asks from the overstuffed chair where he scribbles in one of those long, thin writing pads generally used by law enforcement. 

Samuel pauses in his stride and nearly trips over his own feet. He had been pacing the room, but now a chill goes down his spine. “What are you trying to imply, Detective?” he demands, failing at keeping his voice level.

“Samuel darling,” Aurelan cuts in. “Detective Riley isn’t implying anything. He’s just trying to gather more information about Jimmy.”

The detective, a man with brown hair and eyes, has that weasel-like look about him and doesn’t seem to be taking Jim’s disappearance seriously. He huffs a sigh, leaning back in the chair. “We’ve seen a lot of the boys coming back from the war go off without telling anyone and they return a few days later.”

“My brother has been missing for nearly two weeks,” Samuel bluntly replies. He folds his arms over his chest and glares at Riley. “Would you say he went on a pleasure jaunt and lost track of time?”

The detective’s mouth opens and closes as a flush rises on his cheeks. “What I’m saying, Dr. Kirk,” Riley finally says, “is that in previous interviews, both you and your wife mentioned that your brother had been diagnosed with combat fatigue and he was brought here for a respite. There is a possibility that he is holed up in a pub somewhere or perhaps…”

“Perhaps _what_?” Samuel snaps.

Detective Riley straightens his posture. “Or perhaps he has intentionally hurt himself.”

“There would have been evidence,” Aurelan quickly interjects, sharing a terrified glance with her husband. It dulls her usually sparkling brown eyes and pales her features. “And a body.”

Samuel nods in agreement. “And he wouldn’t have _left a note_ saying where he was and that he would be back in the morning,” he adds, bitterly.

“There is another possibility that we haven’t explored,” Detective Riley tells them after a long moment of tense silence. “Perhaps your brother doesn’t want to be found.”

“Meaning what?”

The detective shrugs. “You have already told me that you and James quarreled the night before. Your wife said that your brother was despondent the day he… _left_ ,” he explains, tapping his pen against the pad of paper. “We should start to consider that he ran away.”

“He’s a _grown man_ , not some sullen teenager who’s mad at our parents!” Samuel shouts. He can feel rage pulsing through his body like atoms binding together to create an explosion.

Detective Riley remains calm and nods in understanding. “Your brother fought with the 30th Infantry Division. The Battle of the Bulge, correct?” he questions. When Samuel nods, he returns it. “I lost my little brother in that. He was with the 21st Army Group.”

“My condolences,” Samuel murmurs.

Riley smiles sadly. “My thanks,” he replies. “I flew with the Dambusters until V-E Day. War can change a man; even the most vibrant or steadfast. You never forget the first time you pull the trigger to end a stranger’s life in order to preserve your own. It haunts you and when you come home to find that everything’s gone back to normal except you, it does things to a man.”

Samuel has never thought of the turmoil that Jim is going through so deeply. He always believed that it was a phase, a hiccup, and that his brother would get better.

So maybe Jim did leave to clear his head and he would come back. Or maybe there’s something more sinister at work…

…like John Harrison coming back for retribution.

“There could be another possibility,” Samuel tells the detective. “There was a friend of Jim’s, an English Major. He betrayed the unit to the Nazis.”

Riley’s expression darkens. “That Harrison bloke? I’ve heard of him. The Devil incarnate if there ever was one.”

“No one’s seen him since that night, not even the Germans…” Samuel pauses, swallowing hard. “He could have followed us and taken him.”

The detective tilts his head and goes to make a note of it. “I’ll make a few calls to Scotland Yard,” he declares at this new bit of information.

 

* * *

 

Sleep comes and seemingly lingers for days, only lifting for small increments.

In that time Jim is awake, Leonard, or occasionally, the dark-skinned man who introduces himself as Geoffrey M’Benga attends to his needs. They feed him, check his vitals and injuries, and push medication through his IV port.

Jim expects to be interrogated in his weakened state and is surprised when no such thing happens. His hosts seem to genuinely care about his well-being. The pair of doctors make it clear that they are only a press of a call button away and seem amused as they watch Jim inspecting the device, awestruck by the piece of technology.

That’s when Jim, during his waking hours, deduces that he must not be in his time. There is no logic or explanation, only the secrets of the standing stones, but the captain knows within his marrow that this is not 1945.

While his hosts think Jim isn’t lucid enough to pay attention, they whisper of the Eugenics War and its causalities—all thirty million of them and counting. Whomever is left alive by Khan’s reign of terror is either in hiding or fighting against him.

Jim recalls how John kept speaking of a second chance when he wasn’t repeatedly asking how he found him. His former lover had been so insistent that someone had sent Jim after him when all the younger man did was press his palms against a stone. Perhaps that’s how John managed to disappear, by finding another set of standing stones that propelled him into the future.

It’s the only thing that makes sense. Regardless, there isn’t much he can do, not when he’s confined to bed with a broken body.

At the present time Jim resides in the throes of a nightmare, one where he relives the night that Christopher was killed. Only Samuel and Aurelan are there as well, speaking to his godfather in the snow-covered night. The three of them are completely unaware of impending danger or Jim’s panic as he tries to warn them of John’s deceit. No matter how much he screams, his loved ones ignore him while John smiles through the darkness.

 _We can rule the new world together, don’t you see? You will be my consort and I will be Khan,_ he says, his mouth twisting and curling until it starts to melt under the snowfall. His entire face—the skin and muscle—dissolve until it’s just his skull.

Jim wakes up to his own screams and someone’s hand on his shoulder. He throws himself to the edge of the mattress, trying to scramble away despite his body’s protests.

He can hardly fight them off and panic sweeps over him, thinking John has come back for him.

Or even worse—that he never left that dingy interrogation room.

The thought makes Jim vomit onto the floor, his mouth dribbling some bile onto the mattress cover. He hears Leonard cursing as he dodges the contents of the younger man’s stomach.

Another wave of nausea comes for him and once he’s done with the second assault, Jim gasps for breath as Leonard reaches for the call button. He drops it on the blankets and goes to smooth the hair off his patient’s clammy forehead.

Someone comes, they always do, and the doctor pauses in the soothing action. “We need a fresh change of sheets,” he tells them.

Whatever they say, it’s all white noise. A headache forms in the center of his forehead and Jim can’t seem to stop shaking.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Leonard urges. He unhooks him from the IV line and checks to make sure the port embedded in the top of Jim’s hand is still secure before they head to the bathroom. He’s lucky it’s only a few footsteps away from his bed and that Leonard is there to keep him from falling over. Jim knew in theory of how weak he is, but now the realization sinks in. He’s left panting by the time Leonard deposits him on the toilet seat cover.

The task of bathing and changing into fresh sleep clothes is mundane. It takes longer than usual as Jim must take care not to wet his cast or the stitches on his back that Leonard covers with plastic wrap. Brushing his teeth with his left hand is awkward and Jim stabs himself in the gums with the bristles, cursing a blue streak.

Neither of them says a word to each other until he’s dressed and between fresh bed linens. The sick has been cleaned up off the floor and the dirty sheets are gone.

Leonard is fiddling with the IV when their eyes meet. “Mind if I check your temperature?” the doctor asks. “You felt a little warm before your bath.”

Jim nods, not caring if there is one more thing he has to overcome. A thermometer is placed under his tongue and the mattress shifts as Leonard sits down, waiting for the results. Unsurprisingly, he has a fever.

“Not unusual given the amount of trauma your body experienced,” Leonard comments as he sets the instrument down on the bedside table. He has a glass of amber colored liquid with a straw in his hand when he turns back to Jim. “It’s apple juice.”

Jim sips on the beverage as the doctor injects his IV with more medication. It’s a relief to find no sour taste in his mouth or a cold rush spreading through his arm. He is only able to drink half the glass before his stomach decides it’s had enough. “Thanks,” Jim rasps as Leonard takes it from him.

“Don’t mention it,” the doctor replies. He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, seemingly nervous about what to say next. They haven’t had much verbal interaction and their conversations are still filled with awkward pauses. “Do you remember what you were dreaming about?”

Jim shakes his head. “No,” he lies. “It’s probably a good thing.”

“Probably,” Leonard agrees, grinning. He gestures to the overstuffed chair in the corner. “I can stay…in case if you need anything.” The doctor pauses. “Also, someone should monitor your fever.”

The idea of not having to wake up alone in an unfamiliar room sounds better than Jim assumed it would. He nods, slumping down against the pillows and rests his broken hand on his belly. Leonard pats his shoulder with a warm hand, giving him a reassuring smile before he goes to the heavy wooden wardrobe to retrieve another blanket.

Exhaustion comes in those moments, leading Jim into the blissfulness of sleep. This time he doesn’t dream or have nightmares.

The next thing Jim is aware of is the sound of someone knocking at the door and Leonard stirring from his perch, yawning as he goes to answer it.

“I didn’t think I would see you down here,” the doctor whispers, still sleepy.

The other occupant tiptoes into the room as the door shuts. “I thought you would be in your own room,” a man says quietly. He sounds like he’s the same age as Frank, his step-father, and also a military-man judging by the gruffness that lines the edges of his voice.

“He had a rough night,” Leonard explains.

“Oh?”

Jim hears someone shuffling around before the doctor speaks. “He developed a fever,” he says. “It’s nothing too serious, but it requires attention. We don’t want it to get out of hand.”

Someone nears the bed, keeping a safe distance. “So this is him,” the other man comments. “I’m surprised Khan didn’t manage to kill him.”

“He would have if we hadn’t gone back for him,” Leonard states. He is moving around the bed, probably to come check the bag of saline that hangs over Jim’s bed.

The other man makes an incoherent sound of disgust. “How is he feeling aside from the fever?”

“It's slow going, but Jim is improving every day,” the doctor tells him. “We’ll just need to be patient.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the stranger replies. “I would like to be properly introduced to Mr. Kirk once you feel that he’s ready for visitors.”

Leonard is now pulling one of the blankets up and over Jim’s shoulders, tucking it around him. “Alexander, he doesn’t remember what happened to him.”

“A small mercy in a world like this,” this man, Alexander, comments. “We sent a drone back to Inverness.”

This piques Jim’s interest, even though he’d rather go back to sleep. Any bit of information he can gather from these people is useful.

At least John was able to teach him something.

“Did Khan clear out?” Leonard asks, his tone becoming cold.

“Yes; didn’t leave anything behind,” Alexander answers with a sigh. “We do know Mr. Kirk was the only prisoner within the compound, but it doesn’t mean that there weren’t others at one point or another. Our new friend just happened to get lucky.”

They leave the room, though Jim can hear their muffled voices. He opens his eyes, not caring that tears spill onto his pillow. _John,_ he wonders. _Why you? Why did you have to do this?_

John explained his reasons for his actions and even defended them with such conviction that Jim thought he was the second coming of Hitler.

In a way, John Harrison is.

Only this cuts deeper, at least to him. He had trusted this man and befriended him, telling John his deepest, darkest secrets and fears. He had whispered his hopes and dreams for his life after the war and took him into his body.

They had planned a life together, gallivanting across the continent and seeing the world. John promised they could be together in Paris or Nice, drinking in cafés and necking in smoke-filled pubs while some Bohemian read poetry.

 _We could have this,_ John told him. _We could have a happy life together, my darling._

 _What about my family? They’d notice if I ran off with a stranger and never returned home,_ Jim had teased. _Or never married._

He can picture John’s grin as he kissed Jim over and over, his words punctuating the space between. _It doesn’t matter, my darling. We love each other and your family will be happy for you._

More tears come, wetting the spot where his cheek meets the pillow, for Jim hasn’t truly been able to mourn the death of his relationship.

There had been so many other things to numb his pain—Christopher, his crippling anxiety and depression, trying to convince his family that he would get better. All of these distractions allowed Jim to push his feelings down that it’s only just coming back up.

He hates that he remembers all the sweet nothings that John whispered in his ear and the way he showed Jim how much he cared for him. All the times they made love and how he curled into the Englishman’s body when they were done makes him physically ill when he thinks on them.

His muffled sobs give way to something else— _panic_. Jim begins to think how transparent his secrets are; sooner or later, Leonard will realize his connection to Khan. He’ll certainly tell this Alexander and they will turn against him.

Perhaps they will take him back to Inverness and he can go back through the standing stones, going back to his own time to forget about this mess.

Or maybe they will view him as a traitor and execute him.

Jim doesn’t realize he’s gasping for air until Leonard rolls him onto his back. Through his tears, he sees the concern etched into the doctor’s face. “Jim,” he intones, keeping his hands on his biceps. “It’s okay. Just take a deep breath.”

Leonard continues to touch him, building that physical connection that begins to calm him. Jim has never been the tactile sort unless it involved flirting, but something about _this_ parts the waves of anxiety until they recede entirely.

His breathing mostly returns to normal, though it's punctuated by hiccups, and his tears dry upon his cheeks as embarrassment seeps into his bones. Jim feels the burn of his flushing on his cheeks and attempts to hide.

“Hey, none of that,” Leonard sighs, pulling the younger man’s arm off his face. He hands him a damp washcloth, allowing Jim to wipe away his tears.

The cool fabric feels heavenly against his skin which he surmises has to do with his fever. When he’s finished, Jim gives it back to the doctor. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You heard us talking,” the older man says as he holds onto the washcloth. “Alexander and I.”

He hesitates before nodding. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s kind of difficult not to eavesdrop when we’re in _your_ room,” Leonard grouses. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, kid.”

It’s odd to hear an apology from him, seeing how he saved Jim’s life and has been nothing but kind towards him. “You didn’t know I was awake,” he counters lamely. “Is that Carol’s father?”

Leonard nods, glancing towards the door. “Yeah, that would be him,” he replies. “Nice man, even if he’s a bit authoritarian. Alexander means well.”

“He’s not English,” Jim comments.

The doctor raises his brows, surprised that his patient remembered such a small detail. “He met Carol’s mother while he was stationed in Suffolk,” Leonard explains.

“Is she here? Carol’s mother?”

“No,” the older man replies. “She died during the London Bombings in 1994.”

Jim thinks of the Blitz and shivers at the memories of survivors’ tales. “What about you? How did you get here?” he asks.

“I was at a medical conference in Geneva when Khan’s forces attacked the Eastern Seaboard,” Leonard answers, sounding like he’s told this story one too many times. “Atlanta became a crater in the ground and there was nothing left for me to go home to, so I eventually found my way here.”

He shifts, carefully watching the doctor. “I’m sorry,” Jim says.

“No need to apologize, kid,” Leonard assures with a tight smile. He pats his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t pull the trigger.”

His mind goes to John, causing his throat to tighten. “I know,” Jim tells him. _But I should have._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is the use of a period-typical racial term used in this chapter, please read with caution.
> 
> For Keenser's character, I am going by the actor's real life physical description.

The fever is more tiring than the rest of his healing injuries.

It zaps Jim of his energy for the three days it wavers between one hundred and one and ninety-nine degrees, not that he was the most lively person in the first place.

Leonard all but moves into his room, staying with him every night. He sleeps in an overstuffed chair that he pulls to Jim’s bedside, his bottom half covered in a blanket. It can’t be comfortable to sleep like that, but Leonard never complains.

Instead, he and Jim talk as they only had brief exchanges up until that point, most of it concerning how the younger man was feeling. Leonard tells him of how the Enterprise Squadron operates and of its core members which include himself, Geoffrey, Carol, Alexander, and others who Jim has not met.

“They were there when we extracted you,” Leonard explains after saying their names—Nyota, Scotty, Keenser, Hikaru, Gaila, and Spock. “I don’t expect you to remember that.”

He toys with the edge of the comforter, picking at the fabric with his left hand. “When will I be able to meet them?” he asks.

The doctor smirks, his eyes twinkling in mischief. “Why? Am I boring you?”

Jim finds himself turning scarlet and meekly shakes his head. “No,” he replies, embarrassed. “Aren’t you tired of me?”

“Not yet, kid,” Leonard replies. “Once your fever breaks, we can see about having you meet the others. I can say that they have been hasslin’ me about you.”

This knowledge makes him grin for reasons unknown to Jim. Perhaps it’s because he had to watch his friends die in the war or that John’s betrayal hasn’t made him keen to socialize with anyone outside of his family.

“Why do you look so surprised?” the doctor asks, chuckling. “Of _course_ they want to meet you. We risked life and limb to rescue you.”

Jim smirks as he drops his gaze to his cast where his immobilized hand is still mending. “Why did you go back for me?” he wonders aloud. A moment of silence passes until Jim finds to courage to look Leonard in the eye.

The doctor still seems to be under the assumption that his patient doesn’t remember their first encounter in the woods. He had told Jim of how they met a few days after he had woken up. Leonard hadn’t withheld anything when he described the scene, probably in hopes that it would jog the young man’s memories.

But he knew. Jim could recall every single detail from the colors of the vegetation around them down to the flecks of gold in Leonard’s eyes.

“I couldn’t just leave you there looking all pathetic,” the doctor teases him as he glances down at his watch. Leonard arches a brow. “It’s getting late and you should sleep.”

Jim snorts and grumbles about all he does is rests. As his pillows are shuffled for him to recline against, he hears the older man chuckling. “It’s a regular laugh riot,” he grouses, wincing at the building pressure on his back.

“Tomorrow we can start you out in the chair,” Leonard promises. “If you can tolerate it, we’ll go from there. Does that sound alright?”

He nods. Aside from going to the bathroom, Jim hasn’t really been out of his bed from the day he arrived at the castle—three weeks to be exact— and it’s grating on his natural curiosity. “Okay.”

“Okay then,” the doctor replies. “I’ll be right back.”

Jim watches as Leonard disappears to his own room and go about his nightly routine in private. He isn’t gone for too long and comes back wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a navy blue University of Mississippi sweatshirt. He goes directly to the chair and is bending over to get the blanket when Jim finds himself speaking.

“Why don’t you just sleep in the bed?” he asks, earning a perplexed stare from Leonard. “That chair can’t be comfortable and there’s more than enough room if I just move over.”

The doctor’s eyes shift from the chair to Jim, as if he’s trying to come up with an excuse not to take the young man up on his offer.

“You’ve been here day _and_ night,” Jim continues. “You need rest too, Bones.”

Leonard blinks. “Bones?”

“Because you fixed my hand…the broken bones,” he explains, holding up his right hand and wiggling his fingertips as much as he’s able.

His gesture is met with the dramatic roll of Leonard’s eyes, which is more comical than intimidating. Jim watches as the doctor ponders his offer before _finally_ —and begrudgingly, he notices—accepting. “I’ll help you,” Leonard grumbles, which he does.

Moving is still a tedious exercise. Some of the stitches in Jim’s back are still in place, holding together the knitting skin of the deeper lacerations while others have been removed. His injuries go below the surface, seemingly bone-deep, and with Leonard’s minding, he is learning to go slow.

Once Jim is on the left side of the bed and tucked back in, Leonard shuffles over to the other end to turn off the lights.

The room goes dark, though it doesn’t seem as lonely as it did before. He feels the bed shift as the other man climbs inside and hoists the blankets up. Leonard moves some more until he’s comfortable. “‘Night,” he murmurs.

It’s the last sound Jim hears until morning.

 

* * *

 

There is something oddly comforting to have someone’s body heat and their weight next to one’s self.

It’s not because Jim misses John—frankly, he’d rather see him as a corpse—but just the feeling of sharing a bed. To feel the press of their body against his own. Just to know that when he opens his eyes, that someone will be lying next to him.

The morning sun peeks through the trees outside his window, having not cleared the tops. Jim estimates that it must be at least six-thirty in the morning, though he wouldn’t bet on it. The faint light illuminates Leonard from behind, casting a glow over his dark hair that is pressed messily against the pillows. He doesn’t notice, of course, as he’s busy snoring. The sound is neither loud or unpleasant, like a hum in the distance. Regardless, sleep changes Leonard; he appears tranquil and soft. Any creases from a customary frown or look of concern are soothed away.

It’s a strange sight to behold as Jim has never been awake before Leonard and now that he’s able to see it with his own eyes, a warmth stirs within him. Something he hasn’t been able to experience for far too long.

The other man twitches his nose and licks his lips before moving, flopping onto his back. His hand brushes against Jim’s arm, rousing the doctor. The younger man watches as Leonard blinks himself back to wakefulness and stretches under the blankets. “Everything okay?” he yawns, palming his face.

“I think my fever broke,” Jim replies. It’s true; he feels less like a nuclear reactor this morning.

Leonard pushes himself up on his elbow and reaches out, his calloused hand touching the younger man’s forehead. He moves it around, flipping between the back of his hand and his palm until the doctor raises both eyebrows. “I think you may be right,” he says.

Jim finds a thermometer back in his mouth and patiently waits for the results while Leonard goes to the bathroom.

Moments after the sink is turned off, the doctor appears by his bedside and removes the device. He studies the strange screen embedded into the thermometer. “Ninety-eight point seven,” Leonard declares with a grin. “Congrats, kid.”

For some reason the trivial statement causes Jim to smile. “Does this mean I get to sit up for a while?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Leonard replies as he puts away the instrument. He palms the scruff dusting his face, turning towards his patient. “After breakfast, we’ll get you set up by the window.”

Carol is the one who brings him his morning meal. “Leonard had to update my father on your condition,” she explains with a bright, cheery smile. “You’re looking a lot better from the last time I saw you.”

“Raw meat looked better than me,” Jim quips as she sets the tray on his lap. He looks over the food when he hears Carol giggle and glances up to smile.

It’s then he realizes that another woman has come with her. A proverbial night to Carol’s day, though certainly not the first colored person he’s ever seen. Tan with a regal carriage, this stranger has an amused smirk on her lips. It reminds Jim of a poster he saw for Josephine Baker in the family maid’s bedroom. Something about that image, all impish and sensual, mirrors itself on this woman.

“I’m Nyota,” she announces, not extending her hand to him.

Carol makes a slightly distressed sound. “I forgot that you two haven’t been properly introduced,” she apologizes, turning towards her friend. “Leonard’s been secluding Jim away from the rest of us.”

“Jim Kirk,” he says, reaching over the tray with his left hand. 

She steps forward and gives it a gentle shake, still smirking. “Nice to meet you,” Nyota replies. Her eyes flicker over his appearance, clearly appraising him as a newcomer.

Memory clicks in and he realizes that she had been there when he was extracted. He has no idea what part she played in it, but Nyota had helped save his life.

“Thank you,” Jim tells her as their hands unclasp. “For getting me out of there…”

She bows her head, her smirk softening. “You’re welcome,” Nyota says. “I’m happy that you weren’t a lost cause.”

The statement makes him chortle. “You aren’t the only one,” Jim replies, grinning back at her.

“What Nyota _means_ to say that is she’s glad you are improving,” Carol hisses, shooting a scowl in her friend’s direction. She shakes her head, turning back to Jim. “Soon you’ll be able to meet the rest of us. I dare say that everyone is curious about you.”

Jim is spooning oatmeal into his mouth, trying to not to spill it all over the place. “Bones mentioned,” he comments before eating.

“Bones?” Carol and Nyota question, exchanging confused glances.

He swallows, blushing when he realizes that neither women know of the doctor’s nickname. “Leonard,” Jim clarifies, pointing the spoon at his cast.

“I get it,” Nyota says, pursing her lips together into another smirk. “Because of your hand.”

Carol shakes her head. “It’s grotesque.”

“It’s _clever_ ,” Jim counters, slightly affronted.

They debate the issue while Nyota stays clear of it, making herself comfortable in the chair usually occupied by Leonard. He and Carol continue to bicker between bites of oatmeal until the aforementioned doctor comes through the door, surprised to find that Jim has company.

“Had I known there was a party,” he quips, clearly baffled. He turns to Carol, tilting his head. “Was this his idea?”

Jim frowns. “Hey!”

“It was mine,” Carol replies over the sounds of the patient’s vocal protests. “I figured that Jim needed a bit of company while you were gone.”

Nyota smiles. “What Dr. Marcus is _trying_ to say is that I wouldn’t stop bothering her about it until she finally let me come,” she simplifies.

“So what do you think of him?” Leonard asks.

She turns her dark eyes to the other man, raising one of her brows as she looks him over before nodding with approval. “I guess we can keep him.”

Later on, when the women have left, Jim finds himself in the overstuffed chair. It’s been pulled over to the window which has been opened. The fresh air feels amazing as it passes through his nostrils.

If the sun managed to burn off the heavy clouds, Jim thinks he would be like one of the barn cats back home. He can picture them laying on the hay-covered ground basking in the warmth, only moving when they needed to.

Jim adjusts his forehead against the cushion and opens his eyes a crack. Doune is not much different than Inverness; both places are filled with lush green fields that seem to sprawl on for as far as the eye can see. His current location used to be more populated before the war and is mostly abandoned, according to Leonard.

“Doing okay?” he questions. He sits opposite of Jim with a book in hand. “Are your ribs bothering you?”

He shakes his head. “No,” Jim replies as he closes his eyes with a grin. “Just enjoying myself.”

“All right, but let me know when you’ve had enough,” Leonard tells him, sounding so much like one of those stern doctors that it makes him chuckle. “It’s not something to laugh about, kid. Your body experienced significant trauma…”

Jim looks at him, shaking his head. “Not laughing at you,” he mumbles. “You reminded me of someone.”

“I did? Who?”

“A doctor,” the younger man says, treading carefully. He doesn’t want Leonard to think he’s regaining his memories because that will lead to questions.

Questions that Jim is uncertain he can answer without sounding like a lunatic.

Leonard shifts, leaning closer to him. “And?”

“That’s all I remember,” he states with a measure of finality.

 

* * *

 

It takes a few more days to convince Leonard that he’s well enough to leave his room, but eventually, Jim gets fitted with a sling to cradle his arm and some clothing that isn’t meant to sleep in.

He stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, feeling like a stranger in his own skin. Jim has nothing of his own time and it shows in his reflection. His face sports the beginnings of a beard, something he is unaccustomed to even from when he was in the Army. The black shirt he wears under a flannel button down looks like it’s more appropriate to be worn under his clothing, not left exposed as Leonard instructed.

Or untucked, for that matter.

Jim presses his palm against the material of his denim pants—or jeans, as the doctor referred to them—and remembers owning a pair of his own. These aren’t as stiff and purposely have a worn-in feel to them, which he finds strange.

At least he is familiar with the boots upon his feet and the heavy socks underneath them. The beaten brown leather reminds him of the ones he wore back home on the farm.

“You look mighty confused, kid,” Leonard comments. He pokes his head into the bathroom and it dawns on Jim that he may have been standing there for a while. “Everything okay?”

He shrugs to adjust the sling. “It’s just strange to be in real clothes,” Jim admits, tugging on the sling with his other arm. “Why do I need this again?”

“Because I have a feeling that _you_ won’t take it easy,” the doctor sighs. He comes over to his patient and starts to readjust the sling, tightening it so that it hangs more comfortably against Jim’s body. “That better?”

“It would be better if I didn’t have to wear it,” Jim grouses as Leonard clamps a hand on his shoulder and leads him out of his bedroom suite.

The older man chuckles. “Now you’re just being melodramatic.”

“Am not,” he mumbles as they walk through a series of corridors made of stone and mortar. Jim stops several times to get his bearings of his new home or to look out the windows over the courtyard.

There are people outside, stomping around in the mud as they carry items to and from an armored truck. One of them yells, his brogue carrying through the double pane windows.

“That would be Scotty,” Leonard tells him. “He’s the only Scottish one here and loud as sin.”

Someone is following him and at first, Jim believes it to be a child. On second glance, he realizes that it’s a man who stands no higher than perhaps his navel.

“And Keenser,” the doctor adds. “He doesn’t really say much, but took a shine to Scotty when we found him just outside of London.”

Jim nods in understanding. “What do they do?”

“Besides blowing shit up? They’re our head engineers around here,” Leonard explains, gently pulling him away from the window.

He listens as the doctor feeds him information about the people that Jim is not acquainted with. He knows that Nyota is the communications and linguistics expert who helps them decipher messages from both allies and enemies.

There is a man named Hikaru who pilots their aircraft and works on their sensory systems with Carol and another woman by the name of Gaila.

“And there’s Spock,” Leonard says with some contempt. “He’s our commander.”

Jim raises a brow, surprised to hear the doctor’s tone. He’s grouchy, yes, but pure dislike oozes from his mouth. “You don’t like him,” he comments.

“Not particularly,” the other man says. He looks at Jim and sighs. “He didn’t want us to waste our resources to recover you, but luckily Alexander saw things differently.”

He stops walking and swallows, wondering why some stranger would even suggest such a thing. Why _anyone_ would allow a person to suffer at the hands of John Harrison. “Why wouldn’t he want to go back for me?” Jim asks.

“Don’t take it personally, kid,” Leonard assures. “Spock is just…well…he’s a pain in the ass. He always thinks he’s smarter than everyone else and I would like nothing more than to punch him in his smug little face.”

Jim chokes out laughter. “Isn’t that against your Hippocratic Oath?”

“Exceptions _can_ be made,” he replies with a shrug.

Leonard takes him to the main hall, where several rows of long tables have been set up with hot plates of food. People are eating and talking amongst themselves, ignoring their arrival, which suits Jim just fine.

“Over here,” the other man tells him, motioning to the nearest table where several familiar faces are seated.

Geoffrey is there as well and speaks to a man of Asian descent, who Jim surmises is Hikaru. Next to him is a woman with flaming red hair who is in the middle of a deep conversation with Nyota and Carol.

He and Leonard decide to sit across from them, earning the redhead’s attention. “You must be Jim!” she exclaims with an Irish accent. She extended her hand with a bright smile. “I’m Gaila O’Broin.”

Jim awkwardly shakes her hand as he sits down. “Jim Kirk,” he greets.

“This is Hikaru,” Gaila tells him, gesturing towards the man he suspected to be him. He gives Jim a smile before going back to his conversation with Geoffrey. “And you know Geoff, Carol, and Nyota.”

Jim waves in greeting and tries not to blush. The attention is uncomfortable, something that he finds to be ironic because, before the war, he loved it.

Leonard nudges him. “What do you want to eat?” he asks, lifting Jim’s plate. He places healthy portions of food that the younger man points to.

Somehow, he receives less ham than fruit. Jim makes a face at this but decides it’s not worth starting an argument about.

Which is just as well since Scotty and Keenser make a loud entrance into the hall. They seem to be bickering, though Jim can’t understand what about. Keenser’s voice is drowned out by the Scotsman's, though he can make out the annoyance on the man’s face.

“I’m tellin’ you, you cannae do that to that engine!” Scotty counters to whatever his friend has said.

Keenser’s face scrunches into a frown and he gestures rudely. He plops down on the other side of Leonard and wordlessly starts to pile food onto his empty plate by standing up on the bench.

“Morning, boys,” Gaila says cheerily. “Did you see that Jim’s joined us?”

On cue, he freezes in the middle of chewing on scrambled eggs and turns to Leonard, who is busy drinking from his cup. Keenser leans over the doctor and appraises Jim with nearly black eyes before going back to piling more ham onto his plate.

“Montgomery Scott at your service, laddie,” Scotty says. He doesn’t bother to shake hands with the young man, something he’s grateful for. “You can call me Scotty.” He points to Keenser who is now hidden behind Leonard. “That’ll be Keenser. He doesn’t speak much, but he can play a mean round of poker.”

A noise of agreement comes from the man himself.

“I reckon you’re feelin' better if Lenny’s let you out,” Scotty continues on. He tears apart a bun, shoving half of it into his mouth and chews noisily. “You’re certainly lookin’ better…like pulp meat, you were! The kind you use for burgers.”

Carol cuts in. “Have you seen much of the castle?” she asks, changing the subject. 

They discuss the portion that Jim saw on the way to the hall when a tall, pale man with black hair comes in. For a single frightening moment, he reminds Jim of John and it must show in his body language as Leonard reaches for his arm.

“That’s just Spock,” he whispers. He hand moves to Jim’s back, where he rubs slow soothing circles.

Jim watches as he approaches the table, his warm brown eyes sweeping over the table until they land on him. Spock stares at him as he walks to the head of the table, making himself comfortable without break their eye contact.

“Spock,” Nyota says. “This is Jim Kirk.”

He turns and gives her a stiff smile. “I can see that,” Spock replies, looking back at him. “Welcome.”

“Thanks,” Jim croaks. His adrenaline still wavers between wanting to flee and to remain seated.

“I am Spock, the commander of the Enterprise unit,” he tells him.

Jim nods. “Got a last name to go with that?”

“I do, but it’s none of your concern,” Spock answers coolly.

Annoyance and anger surge within him. “Well I can’t walk around calling you Commander Spock, now can I?” Jim bites back.

“You are familiar with military protocols then, Mr. Kirk?” the man asks.

He shakes his head. “Just common decency.”

This provokes a raised brow. “Fascinating,” Spock replies. He shifts his gaze to Leonard. “It seems that your patient has regained his health.”

“I am _right_ here,” Jim snaps as Leonard nods in agreement and says, “A few of his injuries are still on the mend, but that’s to be expected.”

Spock nods. “And what if his amnesia? Has Mr. Kirk been able to recall anything about his past?”

“Bits and pieces,” Leonard replies, sounding annoyed. “I already told both you and Alexander that when it comes to post-traumatic amnesia, _especially_ retrograde, it heals in its own time. There’s no telling if Jim will or will not regain those memories.”

The other man raises his brows as if he has never heard of such a thing. Judging by Leonard’s tone, this is not the first or second time he’s relayed this information. Spock looks back to Jim, his features resembling stone. “I find it convenient,” he says.

“ _Convenient_?” the younger man echoes.

“Yes, convenient, that you seemingly remember your name before falling unconscious during your extraction from Khan’s facility and wake up not recalling a single thing,” Spock tells him. “It is a bit suspicious, would you not agree, Mr. Kirk?”

Jim glares at him, wishing that his hand wasn’t immobile so he could punch the other man. “Is that why you didn’t want to waste resources on me? Because you think I’m a spy for Khan?”

“I said no such thing,” Spock counters, quickly.

“But you implied it.”

Spock frowns and straightens his posture. “I did no such thing.”

“I can read between the lines, _commander_ ,” Jim tells him with a stiff smile.

Nyota cuts in unexpectedly. “There are some communiques I would like to go over with you before sending them to Admiral Marcus for approval…”

“In a moment, Lieutenant,” Spock interrupts, leaning in. “And what lines are those, _Mr. Kirk_?”

“Hey, you’re the genius. You figure it out,” Jim sighs, oozing sarcasm.

“As the commander and your superior, I order you to answer the question,” he demands.

 _If only you knew, buddy,_ Jim thinks bitterly. He would enjoy seeing the look of horror on Spock’s face, knowing that he spoke out of turn to a superior officer. “Well, I’m not telling,” he replies with a smile.

A faint bloom of color appears on Spock’s pale cheeks and brings a sense of smug satisfaction with it.

“What?” Jim innocently inquires. “Now that doesn’t frustrate you, does it? My lack of cooperation? I bet that makes you angry…”

Spock appears to swallow as his Adam’s apple bobs against his throat. “I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion,” he answers sharply.

“I'm not gonna take morality lessons from a robot,” Jim says as he swings his legs over the bench. He wobbles for a moment but regains his balance. “Especially one who thought I was a waste of resources. I’ll see myself back to my room.”

“Reverting to name calling suggests that you are defensive,” Spock calls out as Jim walks away from the table. “And therefore, find my opinion valid.”

He stops in his tracks and turns around to face the commander. Jim smiles as sweetly as he can muster before raising his left hand and giving Spock the middle finger.

 

* * *

 

The thing about being inside an unfamiliar castle is that it’s like trying to find a way through a maze. 

Which is what this place with all of its corridors, stone, and never-ending staircases.

Jim is both discouraged and exhausted by his trek. He has no idea where he is, nor has he seen anyone to ask. His hand and ribs are throbbing at the exertion of trying to find his bedroom and Jim knows that once he’s found, Leonard will not be happy.

He doesn’t know the doctor all that well, but he can practically hear the admonishing that Leonard is likely to give him: _kid, I told you not to overdo it and now look at you!_

Jim kicks the wall in frustration, releasing the yell that’s been building up since he left the main hall. His boot connects with the stones again and again until he loses his balance and falls to the floor. He lands on his left side and ends up on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

And evidently a man with blue eyes and white hair. At first glance, he seems to be very stern and possibly just like Spock until Jim notices how he’s looking at him.

There is more curiosity than anger as he surveys the young man on the floor and tilts his head. “You must be Jim Kirk,” he finally says after several moments of uncomfortable silence. He extends his hand and helps him to his feet. “Alexander Marcus.”

Jim begins to sputter an explanation to which he is cut off by the older man’s hand and his amused grinned.

“Carol radioed to say that you had a run in with Spock,” Alexander explains. He seems to notice some dust on Jim’s back and gently brushes it away. “And that you may be lost.”

He gulps, nodding as heat curls up his neck. “Both of which are true,” he replies.

“Yes, well,” the admiral sighs. “Spock is an acquired taste and to be taken in increments. Come along, I’ll take you back to your room.” He claps his hand on Jim’s shoulder and begins to the lead the way. “We really ought to give people a map for this place.”

Jim hums in answer, too afraid to push Alexander’s good graces.

This makes him chuckle. “You are not the first _nor_ the last person to get lost in here,” the admiral assures with a grin.

“Just the first you’ve stumbled upon?” Jim tries to joke.

Alexander nods. “This is true,” he replies. “You have to ignore Spock sometimes. This war has gotten everyone on edge and when someone is found in the manner you were…paranoia can bloom.”

“War does funny things to people.”

The older man makes a noise of agreement. “I saw you get taken by Khan’s patrol. Leonard and I both did,” he confesses. “There is no way you could be a spy for him. A person lost, perhaps, but not a spy.”

“Is that why you allowed my extraction?” Jim asks.

“Yes, and that when I took this posting, I made a promise to protect those in need,” Alexander explains. “You needed our help and now here you are having this conversation with me, thankfully. I have to admit that when you were brought back, I wasn’t sure if you would live.”

Jim wants to say that he wasn’t sure if he had died when he saw Leonard’s face next to his own. The older man pats his back, clearly aware of his injuries as the touch is gentle.

“But you’re a fighter,” Alexander continues on, grinning. “We need more like you, memories or no.”

He doesn’t know what to say and only offers the admiral a shy smile. They continue on their way back to Jim’s room and he realizes that he had taken a wrong turn while passing through the main hallway.

Leonard is standing in his room, pacing manically until he realizes that his patient is back and in the company of his superior officer. “Alexander,” he greets before scowling at Jim. “ _You_. Bed. _Now_.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Len,” the admiral says. “He got lost. You remember what your first month was like.”

The doctor shakes his head. “You may want to find Spock and make sure he doesn’t try to take off Jim’s head while he’s sleeping,” he grumbles as the younger man sits on the mattress.

“From what I gather, Mr. Kirk’s comments were warranted,” Alexander replies. He gives them both a wave before leaving.

Leonard scowls as he checks his vitals. “You certainly know how to make an impression,” he tells Jim.

“Spock started it,” he whines.

“I warned you that he was a pain in the ass,” Leonard says as he continues his task. Their eyes meet briefly and it’s apparent that Leonard isn’t actually mad. Worried, yes, but there is no anger in his gaze.

“That was the first time I’ve ever seen someone really go toe to toe with him,” Leonard adds. “And _live_.”

Jim snorts and chews on the inside of his mouth to hide his grin.

The other man stands up and ruffles his hair. “I’ll help you out of the sling and get you some pajama bottoms. You look done in, kid.”

There’s really no way to argue with that.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flickst drew this [absolutely stunning piece of fan art](http://flickst.tumblr.com/post/120228301848/this-isnt-the-khirk-i-promised-nerodeniro-but) of Jim and John. If you aren't already following them on Tumblr, I highly suggest you do!

It’s been just a few days shy of two months since Jim found himself transported into the future and in the company of the people who reside in Doune Castle.

With the exception of Spock, all of them have been welcoming to their guest and he finds that he doesn’t long for home. Thoughts of finding the standing stones or even going to Inverness never plague him, though Jim wishes that there was a way to let his brother know that he shouldn’t be worried.

 _I am much happier amongst strangers than I was with loved ones_ , he thinks as he watches Scotty and Keenser work on an engine. He adjusts the strap of his sling on his shoulder, moving it so that the pressure of the clasp goes elsewhere.

Keenser mutters something in a high pitched voice. The word sounds like _wrench_ and he holds out a grubby hand in waiting. Jim looks to his side where a toolbox is sitting next to his thigh. He points to a worn wrench whose metal is mostly scratched and sees the man nod. “Here you go,” he replies, handing it to Keenser, who bow his head in thanks before disappearing around the other side of the engine.

Scotty pops up from the guts of the object and wipes his brow. “Hope we’re not borin’ you, laddie,” he apologizes. “Though I suspect this is more entertainin’ than sittin’ in bed, eh?”

“Much,” Jim answers. “What kind of engine is this?”

The Scotsman takes a long drink from his thermos. “Humvee,” Scotty states with a smack of his lips. “From a military ambulance…was the only thing left of it. Keenser and I salvaged the pieces from other engines so we could rebuild this one. Mighty sturdy hunk of metal once it’s done. Thinkin’ about puttin’ it in one of the tanks.”

Keenser’s head comes up over the other side of the engine and shakes his head, clearly not on board with this plan.

“Oh shut up!” Scotty barks. “And don’t you dare roll your eyes at me! I see when you do it!”

Keenser rolls his eyes and disappears once more, muttering incoherently to himself. Jim chuckles at the spectacle both men create and wonders how these two became such close friends.

 _It takes all sorts_ , he supposes as he continues watching them.

He had friends in the Army, men Jim could rely on when things got rough. They made him crack a smile during the bleakest engagements and made great drinking buddies. Everything went south when John betrayed them all; many died and the ones who didn’t, were either maimed or barely made it out alive.

And Jim couldn’t face them, not after what he had allowed John to do.

Every so often Scotty will pause to explain something to him without prompting, pointing out various parts and naming their use with grease covered fingers. Occasionally Keenser pipes in, correcting the Scotsman and starting another argument.

It keeps Jim out of his own head, a place that he doesn’t even want to go.

He would like it better if Scotty and Keenser allowed him to help, but it seems that Leonard’s fury is one to be reckoned with. They politely decline while two pairs of eyes focus on his broken hand, set in its sling and cast.

“When Lenny says that contraption can come off, you can help,” Scotty assures him as they walk into the main entrance of the castle. He has an arm slung over Jim’s shoulders. “But until then, I cannae let you.”

Keenser walks between them, darting off towards the direction of his room without so much as a word of goodbye.

“Schemin' little hellion,” Scotty grouses. He slips his arm from Jim’s body and clasps his hands. “Well, I’ll be off my room to get cleaned up. Do you remember how to find the main hall?”

Jim nods. “I got it,” he tells him.

“You sure? I don’t want you gettin’ lost and me losin’ my head because Lenny has his knickers in a twist!” the Scotsman questions, to which Jim nods once more. “Alright, I’ll see you soon. Save me some sandwiches, will ya? Hikaru always manages to smuggle ‘em all!”

Having been in the castle long enough, he has managed to figure out how to navigate his way through the stone corridors. They seem less daunting and more like home as time passes.

And then there is Leonard, whose presence has been a constant since Jim arrived within Doune Castle’s walls. He is the epitome of comfort and safety, at least to the young man.

He stays with Jim when he’s had a nightmare, wordlessly slipping into his bed and lying beside him until the anxiety-induced trembling has passed or both of them fall asleep. On those mornings where Leonard has spent the night, Jim finds that they have drifted closer together during their slumber, merely inches from touching one another.

It feels natural to wake up to Leonard’s sleeping face or feel his breath on the back of his neck. Even just having Leonard nearby allows Jim to forget all that ails him.

Not to mention, he  _is_  pretty easy on the eyes.

Jim grins to himself as he turns a corner, keeping his eyes averted in case someone should see him mooning over Leonard. He ends up walking into someone, a woman judging by her surprised gasp. Jim looks up immediately to see Janice Lester and goes to apologize when he notices a smirk on her lips.

Someone grabs him from behind, pinning his arms to his body and clamping their hand over his mouth to muffle his shouting. His legs are swept off the ground, held at the knee by Matt Decker.

“Make sure he doesn’t bite you, Finney,” Janice hisses to the person holding Jim’s upper body.

The hand presses down harder, causing his teeth to cut into lips. “I know what I’m doing,” snaps Ben Finney as Jim groans in pain.

He begins to struggle to free himself, twisting and turning despite the sharp twinge that punctures his ribs. The pace his assailants set makes Jim become disoriented, uncertain of where they are taking him.

The answer is clear soon enough: Jim is set on his feet and shoved into a room, catching a glimpse of Spock’s stoic expression as he stumbles inside. Amidst the laughter of Janice, Matt, and Ben he trips over his feet, thus landing on the hard floor.

“Let’s see if this will jog your memory,” Spock sneers before slamming the door shut.

Jim hears it being bolted shut and lunges at the knob, alternating between fiddling with it and banging on the door. “Spock!” he shouts, hitting the wood with his palm. Anger rages through his body and he vows that once he’s out of here, he’s going to show Spock a thing or two.

Even if it means rebreaking his hand.

He kicks the door with his boot, grunting in frustration at the laughter from the other side. Jim steps away from the door and tries to make sense of his surroundings, which aren’t much.

The room is rarely used, judging by the amount of dust gathered on the floors and walls. A single light bulb flickers from above, slowly dimming as each moment passes. In the center lies a poorly constructed, lopsided table whose wood is rotting away. It’s not the piece of decaying furniture that captures his attention but the items strewn across the surface, gleaming at Jim as he approaches.

“I hope you find the accommodations acceptable,” Spock calls from the other side of the door, chuckling darkly.

Jim is uncertain by what he means until he gets a closer look, spotting rusty a hammer, scalpel, knife, and pliers. His breath hitches in his throat as he stumbles backward from the instruments.

“We went out of our way to make it feel familiar,” Spock tells him over the sounds of more laughter from his three comrades.

Panic latches onto Jim as he flees towards the door and urgently pounds on it. “Okay, I get it,” he shouts. “You don’t like the brush off, now let me out!”

“You think it’s so simple?” the other man says coolly. “To admit to your wrongs and expect me to open the door.”

“What do you want?” Jim asks, trying not to sound as desperate as he feels. People like Spock can smell fear and manipulate it to their advantage.

Almost like John.

“I just want you to remember,” Spock replies. “Everyone wants you to regain your memories and I am the only one who will _actually_ assist you.”

Jim slams his shoulder into the door. “By locking me in a room?” he grunts, banging on the wood once again. “You really ought to ease up, Spock. People don’t like an asshole!”

“Isn’t that what Khan did to you? Lock you in a room and nearly beat you to death?”

His eyes go to the tools on the table and suddenly feels his heart trying to expel itself from his throat. Waves of nausea wash over him and Jim struggles with the simple act of breathing. “I don’t know,” he snaps. Ignoring the splintering wood and pain radiating up his arm, Jim continues to pound on the door with his closed fist. “Let me out!”

“Only until you remember.”

_I can make this very painful for you, James. Tell me the truth!_

Jim’s body tenses up as he pounds on the door. “Let me out!” he yells, trying to ignore the light-headedness causing the frightening surroundings to sway. “Spock, please. Open the door!”

The laughter is blending into John’s voice, raising as he screams into his ear and demands that Jim tell him how he got here. Above him, the light bulb is buzzing louder as it dies. Gasping, Jim watches it, trying to will away the memory of being interrogated by John and his men. Their taunts grow louder, echoing the hardness of their fists against his body, punching and wounding Jim when he doesn’t give them the correct answer.

_You don’t know, you say?_

Jim can hear their laughter as they filed into the room, cracking their knuckles as they looked upon their shiny, new toy.

_Gentlemen, show our guest how we jog one’s memory._

Jim cries out as the light pops and immerses him in darkness. His demons begin to lurk all around him, bringing nightmares to life. The smell of bergamot, coriander, and expensive tobacco assaults the air he breathes before seeping inside of his body like a poison.

 _There, there, my dearest,_ John’s baritone croons from the shadows.

Jim falls back, slamming his back into the doorframe. The sharp corner digs into his spine, surely forming new bruises on his skin. “No,” he whispers. “You’re not real.”

_It will be all right, my darling. Just tell me the truth is all. Aren’t you tired of these games we’ve played?_

“Stop,” Jim chokes out. His lungs feel like there’s a vice around them, slowly tightening its grasp and making it difficult to expand. “I don’t know anything.”

He shuts his eyes as all the things John told him are repeated over and over, each time becoming more disturbing. Even the sweetest words are turned septic and claw their way into Jim’s skin as he slides down to the floor, covering his ears.

_I’ve been given the opportunity to make this right, James, and if you tell me what I want to know, you can join me. We can rule the new world together, don’t you see? You will be my consort and I will be Khan._

“Isn’t that what you want, my darling?” John asks. His fingers card through Jim’s hair.

He opens his eyes, dumbstruck by seeing the Englishman squatting in front of him. He’s pristine compared to the condition of his surroundings. “You’re not here,” Jim croaks. “You’re not real.”

“I am as real as you allow me to be,” John replies. He tilts the younger man’s chin with his fingers and smiles down at him. “I am as real as you _need_ me to be, James.”

Jim’s lips begin to quiver. “I don’t need you,” he tells him. “I wish I didn’t know you.”

“And yet, I am _always_ on your mind,” John counters, cruelly. “I haunt you, don’t I? I’ve become your very worst nightmare.”

His smell wraps all around Jim, making him feel claustrophobic by their close proximity and hopeless. As hopeless as if he never left the interrogation room. That he’s going to be led to his death and that Leonard never came for him.

Terror seizes him and Jim leaps to his feet, charging the door with a cry. He throws all his weight into it, not caring what injuries he inflicts on himself. Jim rams into the heavy wood over and over, clawing at it with both hands until they are bloodied. It does nothing to cease his screams or the broken pleas spill from his mouth. All he knows is the darkness coming for him, biding it's time to swallow him whole and devouring what’s left.

He falls forward into blinding light where someone grabs him by the shoulders. Jim lashes out at them like a caged animal. “No!” he sobs. “No! Don’t kill me! I’ll tell you whatever you want! Stop!”

“Jim,” calls a voice as it comes closer. A drawl that’s a deep and sweet, unlike John's chilly baritone. “Jim, it’s okay. Shh. You're okay.”

Hands hold onto him, keeping him upright as the voice tells him to keep breathing, insisting that he draw in deeply and exhale slowly.

There are more voices, though one shouts above all the rest, sounding so furious that it makes Jim shiver. Like a thunder god, he muses in his delirium. “Never in all my years have I seen such gross indifference to another’s well-being!”

“Hey kid,” the drawl says, earning Jim’s attention. Through fuzzy, spinning vision, he finds himself staring at Leonard and his comforting smile. “Atta boy. Eyes on me, okay? Hikaru and I are going to help you up.”

Hikaru appears to his left with a nervous expression. “I’m going to slide your arm over my shoulders,” he announces over Alexander’s yelling.

Jim finds himself back on his feet and sandwiched between Leonard and Hikaru. He sways and leans heavily against Leonard. “I don’t know anything,” he whines to them both.

“Shh,” Leonard gently replies. “We got you, Jim.”

His feet start to drag heavily, causing his knees to buckle from under him. Leonard catches Jim, lifting him up and cradling him to his chest. He groans, dropping his head into the curve of Leonard’s neck. “Get Geoff; he’s in the main hall, and tell him to bring his bag and come to my room,” Leonard says to Hikaru.

Jim loosely fists the material of the older man’s shirt. “I don’t know,” he whispers, closing his eyes as they continue to move.

“Hey, shh,” Leonard assures. “It’s okay.”

The dialogue cycles over and over, Jim mumbling—sometimes incoherently—while Leonard promises that the worst is over.

He hardly notices being brought into Leonard’s room, much less his bathroom, where Jim is undressed and put into a lukewarm bath. A cool compress is pressed against his forehead while the grime from his face, neck, and other exposed skin is washed away.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Jim utters as he stares at the ripples in the water. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

Leonard turns his head towards him and looks the younger man in the eyes. “Jim, listen to me,” he insists worriedly. “You’re in shock…”

“My name is Captain James Kirk,” he rambles on. “I was born on January 4th, 1918 at three-twenty in the morning. My unit is the 30th Infantry Division, Army National Guard.”

Leonard shakes him. “You’re not making any sense, kid,” Leonard cuts in.

“Sammy’s going to be looking for me,” Jim whispers as his eyelids droop shut. “I need to get back home…I told him I’d be back by morning…I’d be back by morning…”

Whether he passes out or falls asleep, it’s all the same, and he does it to the sound of water sloshing against the sides of a porcelain tub.

 

* * *

 

“You know,” Leonard says as Jim opens his eyes, “I’ve seen that scar on your arm nearly a hundred times and never thought anything of it.”

He blinks owlishly, trying to adjust the dim lighting of an unfamiliar room. Jim goes to rub his face and is surprised to find that the knuckles on his left hand have been bandaged. The cast has also been changed, traded for fabric rather than plaster and gauze.

“Because scars are just areas of fibrous tissue,” Leonard continues on from his perch at the end of the bed, staring at the window instead of Jim. “Everyone has them to some extent, some worse than others. But your scar was made with a bifurcated needle.”

Jim freezes as dread washes over him. His fingers go to his right arm, where under a borrowed shirt, lies his scar from a smallpox vaccine. He had been three when his mother took him to the pediatrician and sat quietly in her lap while it was administered. The doctor had been impressed by how well the toddler handled it, at least that’s what she told him. Not that he remembers it.

“It’s from the smallpox vaccine, isn’t it?” Leonard questions.

When Jim looks up, Leonard stares back. He swallows, afraid to speak and ends up nodding his head.

“While you were resting, I looked up some newspaper articles from right after the war,” Leonard tells him, turning his body towards the younger man. “You probably know that many don’t exist because of what’s happening, but there was one about an American soldier who went missing in Inverness, dated October 1945. He had the same name as you…looked _just_ like you, even.”

Jim remains silent and waits for him to continue on, wondering how this will end.

“They never found a trace of him,” he says. “Not a single hair, a note, a sighting, or even a body. And I was wondering why that was until I realized something.” Leonard tilts his head, observing Jim from the other end of the bed. “It was _you_. That day in the woods, you looked like you wandered out of another era and it’s because you did.”

“I don’t know how I got here,” Jim intones as he looks down at the sheets covering his body. “There were these standing stones on the hilltop next to the house I was staying in…and I went there during the middle of the night.” He glances up at Leonard. “I touched them and I woke up…here. I kicked my flashlight down the hill, so I went after it.”

Leonard nods with uncertainty. “And you ran into me,” he says.

“Actually, _you_ ran into _me_ ,” the younger man corrects with a wan grin, which is returned by Leonard. “And then Khan’s men were coming and you told me to run, so I ran back to the house. I thought that the Nazis were back for another taste, but I was wrong…”

Leonard raises a brow and inches closer to Jim. “You knew Khan, didn’t you?” he asks. His tone isn’t accusatory, for which the younger man is grateful for. “I heard you calling him something else…before he captured you.”

“John,” Jim whispers. “John Harrison. That’s his given name.” He pauses, trying to gather his composure as it’s the first time he’s ever told a soul about this enigmatic man. “He was a major in the 21st Army Group for the Brits. And I loved him.”

The last sentence causes Jim’s voice to crack and tears begin to form in his eyes. To admit such a thing, especially aloud, is not what he’d consider freeing, though the burden feels less heavy than it did before.

“I loved him so much,” he confesses, looking down at his hands. “I would have run off with him after the war, go to Paris or somewhere that would allow us to be together. I would have left everything I knew just to stay with him…but he…” Jim swallows hard, shakes his head. He finds his voice again after a few moments and manages to speak through his tears. “He betrayed us to the Huns during the Battle of the Bulge. I found the plans in his notebook and I went to tell my superior officer—my godfather, Christopher—but it was too late. They attacked my unit and…Chris was killed. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, but I wasn’t well for a while.”

Leonard makes a guttural sound before he speaks. “You weren’t well?” he questions. The answer must dawn on him as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Post-traumatic stress.”

It comes out with certainty rather that accusation or confusion.

“That’s why I was in Scotland; my family thought some time away would help,” Jim elaborates, sniffling. He continues to look at his fingers tangled between the sheets. “I don’t love him anymore…John, I mean. I just…”

Finishing the sentence is harder than he imagined it to be. There are so many unresolved emotions towards John, none of them remotely close to love or devotion. Jim hates him, yet he mourns the person who he cared about.

His betrayal cut just as deep as if John died, except no one grieves for the wicked.

Jim realizes that Leonard has moved closer and he’s reaching for his hand. He glances at Leonard’s face, wondering what he’ll see. Anger? Distress? Sympathy?

He feels undeserving of the latter, for he _should have_ known better.

What he doesn’t expect is the soft brush of Leonard’s thumb over his cheek, wiping away remnants of his swollen tears one by one. The pad of his finger glistens with wetness in the dim light of the room. Leonard’s stare is still on him, completely unafraid of what he sees.

“Bones,” Jim murmurs in awe.

He blinks and there’s the press of Leonard’s mouth against his own, soft and tentative. Jim finds himself looking at the other man’s face, not used to the close proximity, and notices the dusting of freckles across his cheeks.

Jim traps Leonard’s bottom lip between his own, lightly sucking on it as his eyelids drift shut. Leonard’s low pitched moan travels through him until it reaches his core. He shifts, pressing into the other man’s mouth, seeking his taste and the slip of tongue against his own. He finds it through a series of kisses that grow more urgent as moments tick by. Leonard tangles one of his hands in Jim’s hair, drawing him into his lap while Jim clings to his shoulders. Leonard lifts the hem of Jim’s borrowed shirt and caresses his skin, lazily tracing a path up his back. He rocks his hips against Leonard’s lap, bearing down upon his bulge and earning a muffled hiss in return. Jim pulls back, panting as he stares at him. 

Licking his lips, he goes to remove his shirt, dropping the offending article of clothing somewhere that doesn’t matter. Leonard’s eyes are gazing at his naked torso, a part of him that he’s seen many times during the course of their acquaintance. Nothing about it had been sexual until now. Jim watches Leonard brush his fingers over his collarbones, dipping near his sternum when he passes from one line to the next.

Their mouths drift back into each other’s orbit, the tension building slowly until Leonard goes to remove his shirt. It ignites a need in both of them to feel as much skin as possible, quickly stripping from the rest of their clothing. Jim is faster; he’s only wearing boxers, which are flung to the floor as he pounces Leonard, who’s struggling with his belt. Leonard licks his way back into Jim’s mouth, his hands cupping Jim’s face as he lies him upon the mattress. He reaches over him, fumbling with a drawer as their tongues curl against each other.

Leonard’s body presses down against his—only for an all too fleeting moment—before his lips seek out other places. Wet heat pecks the side of Jim’s mouth, the curve of his jaw, his pulse point on his neck, the knob of his clavicle…

Jim cups his hand against the back of Leonard’s head, allowing him to dictate the pace of their movements. He gasps at the sensation of a tongue against one nipple and the next, squeezing the short hairs between his fingers.

He closes his eyes as the tip of the other man’s tongue traces a line down his sternum, releasing a groan. Leonard pushes Jim’s hand from his head so that it lands near the pillows. He sucks in a breath and lies limply on the mattress while his lover continues on, going lower and lower down his body. Leonard sucks a mouth-shaped bruise into his hip, turning the fair skin a vivid shade of red. Teeth nip playfully at Jim’s pelvis and the inside of his thigh. Jim half expects his skin to be gnashed and pulled on until it’s a deep purple, nearly black.

Leonard surprises him with the wayward movements of his mouth, stopping to suckle on his testes while his thumb presses against Jim’s perineum. He arches into the touch, swallowing his moan and fisting the sheets in his left hand. A faint pop startles him to open his eyes and sees Leonard fiddling with a tube. He watches as a clear substance is poured onto Leonard’s fingers, where he rubs it around.

“Your pants are still on,” Jim observes, breaking the loaded silence between them.

Leonard glances down, raising a brow at this realization. “I’ll worry about them later,” he assures, leaning over Jim and nuzzling his neck. “Want to take care of you first.”

As he’s worked open, Jim absently wonders why Leonard isn’t trying to reduce him to tears or exert power over him.

Or make it hurt.

After all, he’s the one laid out on the bed and completely at Leonard’s mercy. It’s what John would have done—force silent tears to fall, admonishing him if he made noise, and torture him until Jim begged for release. Save for their first time sleeping together, none of their other couplings had been gentle or sweet. He thought it was due to circumstances of cramped quarters and Nazis lingering about, but now Jim realizes that it was neither of those. John wanted to possess and control him, to make him yield to the Englishman’s whims, and to become so dependent on him that without John, even breathing would be difficult.

A pair of lips rubs against his inseam as another finger breaches his passage, sliding in with the first. Jim turns to bite the pillow, whimpering when Leonard gently massages his prostate. He bears down on the fingers inside of him, rocking his hips with their movement. Leonard adds a third while pressing his thumb against the younger man’s perineum, seemingly try to rouse more than a muffled noise from him. Jim reaches for him, guiding his head back towards his own and making his intentions clear.

Somewhere between fevered kisses and the removal of Leonard’s fingers from his hole, the remainder of Leonard’s clothes are taken off with Jim’s help. A condom, much different from the ones that Jim has seen, slides into place on his lover’s length before Leonard hooks Jim’s knees over his elbows.

Everything Leonard does to him is reliant on the younger man’s comfort level. There’s no force used as he shallowly thrusts into Jim. It may take some effort and copious amounts of lubricant, but when Leonard is fully sheathed inside of him, each man releases a blissful sigh. They move against one another, slowly at first until a rhythm is found and Jim locks his ankles underneath Leonard’s ass, silently urging him on. The mattress rocks with their movements, punctuated by a gasp or moan from either man, though Jim remains verbally more contained than Leonard.

Even as Leonard’s cock finds his prostate, Jim keeps his lips firmly together. His teeth sink into the tender flesh, drawing blood as his orgasm comes. The sting of pain only intensifies what he’s feeling and blankets his mind, causing him to forget that it’s Leonard’s arm he’s sinking his fingernails into. It seems Leonard’s forgotten as well. He releases a series of anticipatory gasps until he pushes deep into Jim, moaning his name as his entire body stiffens. Leonard blinks, revealing glassy, dazed eyes, and he chuckles, brushing a finger against Jim’s lip. “It’s not the forties, darlin’,” he whispers, touching the abused skin before leaning down to kiss him.

“Oh,” Jim says once they’ve parted, understanding his lover’s meaning.

That they can do this without the worry of being found out and stigmatized for life.

Or thrown into a loony bin for shock treatments and whatever else will ‘cure’ them.

“Sorry.”

Leonard shakes his head, running his teeth over Jim’s neck. “No need to apologize,” he assures. “We’ll just need to keep practicing until I get you to scream my name.”

 

* * *

 

He feels the bed shift and squeaks as Leonard sits down on the mattress.

Jim grunts and rolls from his stomach to his side surprised to find his lover removing his shoes. “Is it morning already?”

“Hey,” Leonard says apologetically as he turns to the younger man. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He crawls across the mattress, pulling Jim to his chest and holds him. “Had to give a status report to Alexander.”

Jim buries his face into the soft fabric of Leonard’s shirt. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he replies, dropping a peck on Jim’s hair. “Lester, Decker, and Finney are being transferred to other squadrons in exchange for some Russian kid. Apparently, he’s a child prodigy, but Archer doesn’t want the responsibility of dealing with a seventeen-year-old.”

Jim nods, tucking himself deeper into Leonard’s embrace. “What about Spock?”

“As much as of an asshole as Spock is, we can’t afford to lose him,” he grouses. “No one else wants him either.”

“So we’re stuck with him,” Jim pouts.

Leonard caresses his shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze. “But he has scullery duty for two months.” Both men chuckle at this, imagining Spock having to clean up after everyone despite his rank. The dour look on his face will almost be too good to be true and Jim says as much.

“Serves him right,” Leonard states as he strips off his clothes, chucking them onto the floor until he’s just as naked as Jim. He slides under the covers and tangles his limbs with Jim. “It oughta take his ego down several pegs.”

Jim rests his head against his lover’s shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” he whispers, sliding his hand down Leonard’s torso to make his intentions known.

“Hell, boy! I usually only have two in me,” Leonard groans as he flips Jim onto his back. He seeks out Jim’s neck, mouthing the delicate skin. “You’re going to be a handful, darlin’. I can tell.”

Jim nods in agreement. “I prefer inspiring,” he counters with a smirk.

“Mhm,” Leonard mumbles as he kisses his way down the younger man’s body. “Let’s see what other loud noises I can inspire from you.”

The answer is plenty.


	8. Chapter 8

Jim watches Leonard’s face twitching as he walks his fingers up his spine, watching how the freckle dotted column shifts with his lover’s movements. 

He tilts his head just as the doctor’s eyebrows furrow together and listens to the whine-like sound he emits when he opens his eyes. “Was sleepin’,” Leonard slurs into his bicep. His hazel irises disappear under his lids and he adjusts the bunched up pillow under his head.

The younger man grins, sliding down the bed so they are eye level. He tangles their bodies together, throwing his leg over the doctor’s hip and kissing the tip of his nose. “Wake up,” Jim insists, blowing on the wet skin.

Leonard shakes his head and pulls Jim into a bear hug, effectively pinning his arms to his side. “It’s my day off,” he growls into the younger man’s neck, running his teeth over the skin he finds. “You _better_ make it worth it, boy.”

“Would a good morning blowjob suffice?” Jim questions, wiggling to free himself from the doctor’s grasp. He squeaks when Leonard decides to suck a bruise into the curve of his neck, tracing over the area with his tongue.

He pulls off of the captain with a feral grin. “It would,” Leonard whispers, going in for a kiss.

Jim dodges it by flipping them over and pinning the doctor’s wrists by his ears. “Good,” he says, delighted as he lets go. He chuckles at his lover’s annoyed muttering and goes about worshipping Leonard's body with mouth and hands.

He kisses his way down the other man’s torso, pausing to tease his nipples and a ticklish spot over his rib cage. Jim puts Leonard in a secure hold and proceeds to blow raspberries into his skin when the doctor wiggles too much.

The sound of his cursing and laughter makes Jim smile into Leonard’s stomach. He mouths the area and dips his tongue into the doctor’s navel, where he looks up to see his lover watching him. Jim tilts his chin, resting it on Leonard's stomach. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks.

Leonard shakes his head with a soft smile as he reaches for the younger man’s hair. He strokes the strands for a moment, moving his fingers to touch Jim’s cheekbone. “No,” the doctor answers, huskily. “I like watching you.”

Jim wrinkles his nose in amusement and presses a teasing kiss to his pelvis.

“Just remember some of us are old,” Leonard adds.

“I’m older than you,” Jim tells him, his words slightly muffled by the span of golden skin against his lips. He can taste the salt upon his tongue and seeks more of it. “I’m actually seventy-seven.”

The doctor chuckles. “I should be thoroughly repulsed right now,” he jokes, his drawl coming out as his arousal grows.

“You should,” Jim agrees, moving over Leonard’s pelvis. “It’s disgusting.” He leans in, inhaling his lover’s musk and savoring the spiciness.

Leonard moans as the younger man’s breath dusts over his hardening length, a sound Jim likens to thunder rolling over the flat plains of Iowa. He drags his lips over the velvety flesh from root to tip, stopping to tongue the underside of his lover’s head.

Jim teases the vein he finds there, tasting the older man’s salty precum leaking from his urethral opening. A quick glance to Leonard tells him that he’s on the right track. He slips the flared cockhead into his mouth, using his tongue to trace a line up the center.

He listens to the doctor’s moans and breathy whispers. If anything, Jim is good at using his mouth and takes Leonard deeper into it. He enjoys the weight of him against his tongue and how his lover reacts to him as he hollows his cheeks to apply suction.

Unlike his previous partners, Leonard doesn’t try to force his head further than he can handle and allows Jim to take the lead. The only thing he does is run his fingers through the captain’s hair and murmur sweetly until he’s panting.

“Darlin’,” the older man moans, tightening his grasp. His hips buck a fraction, and it’s clear by the amount of precum spilling onto Jim’s tongue that Leonard is close.

He looks up again and sees quite a glorious sight: the doctor all flushed with his chest heaving and his head thrown back in delirium, pieces of dark hair flopped over his forehead. His other hand clenches the sheets and turns his knuckles white as bone.

Jim uses his hand on the portion of Leonard’s cock that he can’t get into his mouth, using strokes matching the bobbing of his head to get him the rest of the way there.

The anticipatory gasps come faster, as do the movement of Leonard’s hips. “Jim, Jim,” he calls softly until he lets out an incoherent sound.

Semen fills Jim’s mouth and he swallows down the first spurt before backing off to stroke the doctor through the rest of his orgasm. He watches the uninhibited way Leonard cums and how tightly he screws his eyelids shut until the pleasure ceases, allowing him to let out a content, full body sigh.

Leonard sinks onto the mattress with an elated grin, just shy of goofy. Jim reaches for one of their t-shirts, using it to wipe semen from the doctor’s stomach and from his own hand. He tosses it over the side of the bed and goes to lie next to his lover.

“You have a mouth like sin, boy,” Leonard mumbles.

Jim chuckles. “Well, everyone always told me that I knew how to use my mouth.”

“Uh huh,” his lover says, opening his eyes. Leonard turns on his side, tracing Jim’s sternum. “What else did they used to tell you?” His hand settles on the captain’s waist.

He shrugs. “I was a lot like my dad,” he replies, tilting his head so the doctor can kiss his neck. “I never got to meet him. He was killed during a skirmish on the Western Front. On my birthday, no less.”

Leonard makes a sympathetic sound. “Did your mother ever remarry?”

“Yeah, to Frank.” Jim smiles at the memory of his stepfather. “Very much a military man, so authoritarian and a pain in the neck, but he helped my mom raise my brother and me.”

“Did you like him?”

He nods, meeting his lover’s imploring eyes. “I did,” he admits. “Frank was always a quiet man, but when it mattered, he managed to say or do the right thing.”

“What about your mom?”

“Winona Kirk Lambert,” Jim recites, shaking his head. “She was the town beauty back in Riverside and when she married my dad, everyone envied them. This beautiful couple, and then they had Sammy—the perfect family. When she received word that my dad died, she began to have what they call delicate nerves.” He inches closer to Leonard, running his finger over his arm. “She never knew what to do with me, that’s for certain. I was so different from Sam, who was always the good boy.”

Leonard hums. “You were a handful,” he laughs.

“A _willful_ child,” Jim corrects with a grin.

The doctor nods as he goes to kiss the top of the younger man’s shoulder, hovering around the same strip of skin with his lips and tongue.

“Understatement,” Leonard murmurs. His teeth graze the area as his fingers crawl down Jim’s backside.

“I haven’t seen you complain.”

Leonard shrugs, guiding his fingers down lower and lower until they rest above the dimples on Jim’s back. “Not yet, anyway,” he teases, nails razing the span of skin and sending a shiver through the younger man’s body. “You’re sensitive there.”

“Enjoy that, do you?” Jim gasps as a finger circles around his hole. He presses the side of his face into Leonard’s arm. “Bones…”

The older man dips the tip of his finger inside of him. “Do you think I could make you cum like this, darlin’?” he questions. “Do you think you could cum from my fingers?”

Jim doesn’t have a coherent reply since Leonard decides to use that moment to sink his finger the rest of the way into his passage. His ministrations seem to hit every nerve inside of the captain and turn his spine to molten lava. “Bones,” he pants, burying his face into the man’s chest and hiking up his leg for better access.

Leonard seems quite content to working the younger man into a frenzy by taking his time. He explores Jim’s passage, finding sweet spots that cause him to moan and cling to the doctor.

It helps that Jim is still slick and loose from the other times they had sex. His lover has been very attentive to his needs, especially when it comes to preparation. Jim has to be open enough, wet enough, and ready before Leonard even thinks about sliding into him.

“Look at you,” Leonard says, awestruck, as Jim ruts against him. He wiggles a second finger inside of him while kissing his collarbone. “So beautiful like this and already halfway there.”

Jim keens as the fingers curl against his prostate, not even bothering to stifle the sound. He certainly isn’t comfortable whispering lewd comments like Leonard does—something he figures will be easier in time —but he knows that his lover likes hearing him.

It had taken some convincing and the doctor worrying Jim’s teeth from his own lips with his tongue, but eventually, Leonard was able to rouse something other than a gasp.

“Feel good, darlin’?” his lover inquires. He’s massaging the gland with the perfect amount of pressure and motion.

The younger man throws his head back, exposing his neck to his lover and moaning. He feels Leonard’s tongue licking a line up his throat as he fucks himself on his fingers. His precum is making a mess—he’s sure of it —and they’re going to need a shower after this. “More,” Jim pleads.

“More?” Leonard echoes, working a third finger into him.

He feels so full, pleasantly, and on the verge. His orgasm is lingering and curling in his gut, slowly spreading as his lover keeps working him. “Bones,” Jim cries. “God…don’t stop. Please…”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispers, speeding up the movement of his hand. “I love watching you cum and knowing that I was the one who got you there.”

Jim thrusts his hips once more, digging Leonard’s curling fingers into his prostate and feeling the hard press of them. “Fuck!”

His orgasm rushes through him, whiting out his vision. It’s the most intense release he’s ever experienced—even by his own hand. There is the vague recollection of Jim crying out for his lover who milks him through his pleasure.

He drops his head into Leonard’s chest, grunting out the last of it until he goes quiet in an effort to come back to himself. Jim feels his lover kissing his cheek as he removes his fingers, doing so with great care.

They stay locked in an embrace until Jim’s heartbeat finally slows.

 

* * *

 

“You went to _Berkeley_?” Leonard exclaims, sounding impressed.

Jim nods as much as he’s able since his lover has his fingers buried in his hair, massaging shampoo into the strands. “Is that a good thing nowadays?”

“Nowadays,” the doctor snorts. He pours a handful of water onto the younger man’s head, shielding his eyes with his other hand. “What did you study?”

This is one of many conversations they’ve had when other, more illicit activities aren’t taking place. It surprises Jim how interested Leonard is in learning about him, and he listens to him talk about himself in rapt fascination. “History,” he answers. “With a minor in Transnational and Global History. I got into the Stern School of Business, but then Pearl Harbor happened.”

“So you enlisted,” Leonard finishes.

“Everyone who could did,” Jim explains, dourly. “It seemed like the noble thing to do—protect our country and allies from the enemy.”

His lover reaches for a cup next to the tub and fills it with water. Leonard pours it over his head until the shampoo is completely out of his hair. He waits for Jim to continue once he sets the cup down.

“I wish they told us how hard it was going to be,” he whispers, shaking his head in sadness. “That we would have nightmares when we came home and no one would understand why.”

Leonard reaches for his hand and strokes it. “Scotland probably seemed like a better option than checking you into an asylum.”

“ _Anything_ was a better option than electro-shock treatments and insulin-induced comas,” Jim tells him with a feeble grin as the doctor leans in to press his lips against his freshly shaven cheek, thanks to Leonard’s steady hands.

His lover’s lips go to the nape of his neck. “Mental health treatments have come a long way,” he assures before running the tip of his tongue against the shell of Jim’s ear. Leonard turns the younger man’s chin and goes to kiss him once more.

Their mouths connect in a slow dance of lips and tongue even if the angle is a bit awkward. Jim moves, leaning his body into Leonard’s chest and slipping his arm over the doctor’s shoulders. He cups the back of his lover’s head and sighs at the taste of him.

An arm cradles his waist, pulling him closer and Jim thinks that he could do this all day—kissing Leonard until his lips are red and swollen.

They stay like that until the water cools, causing their fingers and toes to prune. After a quick pat down, the two men continue kissing in bed. It’s sleepy and gentle and a bit wayward that leads to cheeks, chins, jawlines, and collarbones.

“Getting tired,” Jim admits against Leonard’s chest.

Fingers card through his hair, pausing to massage his scalp. “I could use a nap,” the doctor tells him. He adjusts their position so both of them are lying down. “Comfortable, darlin’?”

“Should have done this a long time ago,” the younger man mumbles as his eyelids flutter shut. He smiles sleepily. “I used to try to wake up before you when you spent the night. Liked watching you sleep…you looked less grumpy.”

Leonard laughs and holds onto Jim just a bit tighter. “I have something to confess,” he says. “I used to come in and watch you when you were resting.”

“When?”

“When you first came here,” Leonard answers. He rests his forehead against the top of Jim’s head. “It wasn’t because you were a sorry sight—which you were—but something about seeing you sleepin’…it was peaceful.”

Jim caresses Leonard’s elbow. “Even beaten to hell?”

“Yes, _even_ then,” he sighs. “My favorite part was when you woke up; your eyes look brighter when they open. You would look right at me and give me this shy smile. I don’t think you remembered doing it, but I was the only one you did it for. Never Geoff or Carol, just me.”

He nuzzles Leonard. “It’s because I was sweet on you,” Jim tells him as he climbs on top of his lover. “Still am.” He straddles the other man’s pelvis and surges forward to bring their mouths together.

Strong hands touch his body, alternating between kneading his hips and ass. Leonard’s fingers dip between his crack while the other searches for the wayward lube and a condom. Jim groans, savoring the feel of his lover teasing him.

“Thought you were tired,” Leonard whispers as he maneuvers to roll the condom onto his length and slick it up with lube.

Jim grins down at him. “Go slow,” he murmurs, his voice hitching in his throat when Leonard pushes into him.

And they do go slow, slower than their other couplings.

The movements are unhurried and punctuated by long, deep kisses and the sound of both men moaning. Leonard allows him to control their pace, moving to meet the motion of Jim’s hips. They savor the press of their bodies against one another and the privacy of Leonard’s bedroom.

Eventually, they cum in unison and collapse in a heap of warm, sticky limbs. Once they’ve wiped off and disposed of the used condom, they curl into each other under the covers and sleep until morning.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flickst drew another gorgeous piece of fan art for this fic and it's [here](http://flickst.tumblr.com/post/120554699743/excerpt-have-you-ever-been-inside-another-man). You need to go look at it, stat!

A pair of lips press against his cheek, followed by the caress of warm, calloused fingers.

Jim yawns and rubs the sleep from his eyes, then drops his face back into the pillows he’s apparently hoarded. “Bones,” he grumbles, daring to peek out from over his arm.

Leonard returns the nickname with a peck on his forehead, smoothing back the strands of dirty blond cowlicks. “Just sayin’ goodbye, darlin’,” he tells him. “Time to me to report to the infirmary.”

“No,” Jim whines, blindly pawing at the other man’s body. He latches onto Leonard’s wrist and pulls him onto the bed. “One more kiss.”

Leonard laughs at the request, even as he fulfills it with complete willingness. “It’s never one more kiss with you,” he murmurs as they continue the activity.

“Not my fault you can’t keep your hands off me, Bones,” Jim says against Leonard’s mouth. He buries his fingers in his lover’s hair and pulls him closer. “And vice versa.”

“Was gonna say, darlin’,” Leonard counters.

Both their lips are puffy and saliva slick, though that’s not enough to deter them.

However, Leonard’s job is. With reluctance, he pulls away from his lover with a final, lingering kiss as he ruffles Jim’s hair. “Where will I find you today?” he asks.

“Carol asked me to be a part of the welcoming committee for the new kid,” Jim replies, pulling on the lapel of Leonard’s scrubs. This earns a curious stare from his lover. “What? I’m friendly!”

“Oh I know,” the doctor agrees. “It’s just nice to see you feeling at home with the rest of us, darlin’.”

Jim pecks his lips. “You need to get on duty,” he whispers with a grin. “I’ll probably be with Carol or Hikaru.”

“I’ll come find you then,” Leonard says as he slides off the unmade bed. “Go back to sleep, darlin’. It’s not even six-thirty.”

He watches the doctor leave the seclusion of his own bedroom before dropping his head back onto the pillows. Jim inhales the faint scent of Leonard and closes his eyes with a smile on his face, even as he dozes off.

This thing between him and Leonard has been going on for a week—one of the calmest weeks that Jim has experienced since the war. A routine of alternating between their bedrooms has formed organically; their mutual belongings are stored in wardrobes or drawers. The bathrooms have two toothbrushes instead of one along with toiletries for both men. His nightmares have dissipated to a faded memory and if they do occur, Jim never wakes up in a panic.

John’s face and misdeeds no longer haunt him, having been replaced by Leonard’s drawl and handsome features. It’s his hazel eyes that light the way in Jim’s subconscious and knowing that when he wakes, the doctor will be there next to him.

The ability to have their developing relationship out in the open is a pleasant change. There’s no more hiding or hurried encounters, but long and drawn out stretches of time where both of them are naked.

Jim thrives under Leonard’s tutored body, slowly relearning the art of sex with someone who is gentle and kind. The only pain he experiences is sore muscles when they’ve indulged a bit too much, which suits him just fine.

When they are separated for the day, Jim shadows various crew members and observes them in their daily activities. This has become less worrisome since Decker, Finney, and Lester have been shipped off to separate bases, making Spock vulnerable now that his side-kicks are gone.

He’s seen him a few times around the castle, exchanging a dark stare with the commander before Spock rushes off.

Jim only hopes that the commander’s punishment doesn’t come back to haunt him, which he mentions to Carol over breakfast in the main hall.

“Why would it?” she asks as she pours herself more coffee.

They may be in the middle of a war, but at least the food doesn’t taste too terrible.

He shrugs. “Spock doesn’t seem like the live and let live sort of guy,” Jim says quietly as his eyes follow the topic of their conversation to where Alexander is seated.

“He’s not,” Gaila chimes in with a solemn expression. She leans closer to him, her buxom figure brushing against his arm as she reaches for jam. “But I reckon he also knows when to stop. Terrible what he did to you, Jimmy!”

His cheeks begin to color. “Yeah well…it’s over now,” Jim mumbles. He pushes at his plate. “At least some good came from it.”

“Judging by what I heard last night, it wasn’t _just_ good,” Gaila comments, cheekily. She winks at him and goes back to eating her toast and jam as if they are talking about the weather.

Jim knows his face has turned a hectic shade of red and buries it in his hands while the rest of the table laughs, all of them cottoned to the fact that he and Leonard are now…something.

“Don’t worry, Kirk,” Nyota assures from across the table. “We’re just happy that you two figured it out.”

Hikaru scoffs. “But think of the entertainment value that would have come with getting them together!”

“Or catchin’ them all googly eyed when the other walked by,” Scotty pipes up. “You both didn’t think we saw, but we did. Pathetic, eh, Keenser?”

Keenser nods, staring at Jim with disapproving eyes as he eats.

“Leave the poor lamb be,” Carol orders, slinging an arm around his shoulders. She pulls him into a loose hug. “When we tease you, it means you passed the test and we like you.”

Jim laughs and leans his head against Carol’s. “All in good fun, then?” he asks as she kisses his temple.

“Most of the time, treacle,” she replies, brushing his hair off his forehead. “It helps that your blushing is delightful.”

He rolls his eyes while he digs his fork into his eggs, muttering about how he doesn’t blush.

 

* * *

 

It starts raining in cold sheets by the time the envoy announces that they’re less than five miles outside of Doune.

Despite the layers under his jacket and the boots he borrowed from Leonard, Jim still shivers as he stands in waiting with Carol, Gaila, and Hikaru. The three of them seem immune to the weather, especially Carol and Gaila, who probably grew up in similar conditions. Not even the wet, snowy Iowa winters and the cold weather in Europe could prepare him for Scotland’s winter.

“Should we fetch you another jacket, Jimmy?” Gaila asks, her green eyes watching him as he huddles closer to Carol.

Hikaru snorts. “Maybe we should dogpile him,” he teases.

“Please don’t,” Jim stutters as Carol wraps her arms around him and rubs his arms.

She clucks over him. “Poor treacle,” she says, tightening her embrace. “The cold gets easier after a while. Plus, Len and Geoff had you sequestered inside most of the time you’ve been here.”

“Perhaps someone should fetch the good doctor,” Gaila jokes. She has a mischievous grin on her lips. “He will certainly keep you warm.”

She and Hikaru dissolve into laughter while Carol shakes her head. “You’re laughing now, but just remember how nasty Len’s temper will be if Jim catches a chill!”

“I won’t catch a chill,” he counters, despite his chattering teeth. “Old wives’ tale.”

Carol raises a brow. “You think so?”

“ _I_ know so,” Jim states, trying to deter the group from asking more questions. “Bones told me.”

He tries to ignore their snickering and Hikaru’s mimicking of his last statement, followed by kissing sounds. Jim cranes his neck to see if he can spot the envoy through the opened gates. They are fortified with metal and pretty much impossible to break through, something that allows the residents of Doune Castle to sleep easier at night.

As far as the eye can see is thick mist hovering over the lush green scenery. Jim hasn’t left the safety of the castle since his arrival, though many people come and go throughout the day, including Leonard. They are never gone long and always return before nightfall, per Alexander’s rules. “Do you think they ran into trouble?” Jim asks, turning to Carol.

She shakes her head. “Perhaps getting some wheels stuck in the mud,” she sighs, resting her cheek against Jim’s shoulder. “Don’t fret, treacle. Khan wouldn’t dare try to cross into Doune; he’s made that mistake once.”

“What happened?” he inquires. His stomach clenches at the mere mention of John’s new name, a name meant for greatness rather than the evil he has spread.

Hikaru speaks up. “We have missiles around the perimeter of the city and they’re specifically programmed to detect unfamiliar vibrations caused by the Augments’ aircraft,” he explains with a glint in his eyes. “They never use vehicles, only those hover copters. They never got within ten minutes of Doune before the missiles activated. You have Carol and Gaila to thank for that.”

“Impressive,” Jim says, staring at both women. They just beam with pride, neither of them making a remark about their accomplishments. “Do other bases use the same technology?”

“Now they do,” Gaila answers. “It was implemented six months ago after the siege of our St. Petersburg base.”

“Don’t worry,” Hikaru assures, clapping Jim’s shoulder. He is grinning and laugh lines cause the corners of his eyes to crinkle. “Your buddy, Khan, had nothing to do with that.”

The comment, meant purely in jest, sends a different kind of chill down his spine: the kind after words have been whispered and followed by accusatory glances.

_But you were friends with him._

_How did you not realize it what he was doing, Jim?_

He swallows down the flurry of anxiety and hisses, “He’s _not_ my buddy.”

“I was just messing with you,” Hikaru replies, looking at Jim like he’s a frightened animal. He holds ups his hands in surrender. “Maybe it’s a little too soon to joke about it.”

Gaila smacks him on the arm. “Of course it is!” she snaps over the sound of Carol’s radio.

Jim watches as Carol digs it out of the pocket of her jacket and says, “This is Enterprise. What’s your ETA?”

“Another ten minutes or so,” the woman replies over static and a loud motor. “The kid got car sick.”

The three of them exchange a look of sympathy, knowing that the terrain coming into the castle is not the easiest to stomach, especially for someone not used to it. Jim hadn’t been conscious when he arrived, having passed out shortly after his rescue.

“Is he all right?” Carol inquires.

“I guess,” the woman says. “Looks a bit green, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

The conversation ends shortly after and Carol sighs. “Poor lamb,” she intones. “I suspect he’ll want to get a warm meal and some sleep when he arrives.”

It seems like forever in Jim’s mind until the envoy drives through the gates, which close shortly after their arrival. The vehicles are caked in mud and other muck, concealing their true color. People open the doors, filtering out to stretch and talk amongst themselves. Amongst them is a boy, who appears both pale and frightened. He clutches a knapsack to his chest like a child would do to a toy, his wide eyes taking in his surroundings as the others ignore him.

It becomes apparent as Jim and the others draw closer that the boy has been crying.

“Pavel?” Carol calls, her voice sweet and friendly.

His arms let go of the bag and he drops to his knees, speaking a mile a minute in what Jim surmises must be Russian. Pavel has his fists clasped together and tears are running down his face, a clear sign that he doesn’t want to be here.

“Whoa,” Hikaru says, approaching the new addition. He starts to speak in Russian, conversing with the excitable teen and introducing himself. His tone goes from concerned to angry.

Gaila is the first to speak. “What?” she asks. “What is it?”

“He doesn’t know English,” Hikaru replies, absently, clearly too busy listening to Pavel. He helps the kid to his feet and grasps him by the shoulders, nodding as he answers back. Whatever is he telling this young man, it seems to ease his mind and he ends up laughing as he wipes his nose.

Carol raises a brow. “Well?”

“He thought that they were taking him to be executed,” Hikaru explains as he scoops up the knapsack and brushes the mud from its side. “No one told him where he was going.”

Both Carol and Gaila’s jaws go slack in horror. As a woman from the envoy passes by them, Carol taps her shoulder. “Why didn’t anyone tell him what was happening?” she demands.

“Not my job,” the woman replies. “And it’s not like he would understand us.”

Jim sees Carol’s fair skin turn scarlet, matching the fury in her mismatched eyes. “Then you _get_ a bloody _translator_!” she exclaims. “And don’t say it’s not your job!” She points to Pavel, who tries to follow the conversation. “That young man thought you were going to kill him!”

Hikaru starts to whisper a translation of what is happening into the teen’s ear. He nods his curly head so much that Jim thinks it may fall off and mutters back to the older man, who chuckles.

Pavel gestures towards Gaila, Carol, and himself, clearly wanting to know who these people are. Jim hears Hikaru telling the teen their names as he points to each of them.

“J-jim,” he parrots. “Gai-la. Car-ol.”

Hikaru nods. “ _Da_ ,” he replies before he listens to what else Pavel has to say and turns to Carol, who is finished with chewing out the member of the envoy. “Hey, where is his room?”

“Near yours,” she tells him, extending her hand to the teen. Carol says something in broken Russian, though it seems that Pavel understands her and blushes a furious shade of pink. “Poor lamb. Let’s get him inside and help him settle in.”

Later on, Jim lingers outside Pavel’s room, not wanting to be in the way as the others help the teen adjust to his new surroundings now that he realizes he’s not going to die. He listens to the kid asking Hikaru questions, as he’s fluent in Russian (“My best friend growing up was from Moscow and I learned to speak it from him,” he explained earlier).

“ _Da_ ,” Pavel chirps. “Yes!”

He envies the kid’s ability to bounce back quickly. Perhaps once—long ago—Jim had been like that as well, though, through time and age, he lost that resilience that Pavel has. He is certain that today’s events won’t haunt the boy long and follow him into his dreams.

No, he will be fine and his frightening escapade forgotten by dinnertime.

“You’re still here?” Carol asks. She is shutting the door to Pavel’s room when Jim glances at her.

He nods. “How’s he doing?”

“Taking to Hikaru like a fish to water,” she giggles, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Come, let’s leave them alone. Pavel gets awfully shy when there’s too many of us around.”

Jim follows Carol, who links their arms as they descend a staircase. The rain comes down harder now and hits the windows steadily, blotting out all surroundings. It reminds him of his stay in London, shortly after he, his brother, and sister-in-law arrived.

They would go out, rain or shine, while Jim preferred the quiet of his hotel room. He would sit by the window with a book, a title he doesn’t recall now, and watch the clouds roll over the city before bursting open. It was like his inner turmoil, a calm before the storm.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Carol observes. She tilts her head and scrutinized him carefully. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind, treacle?”

Jim shrugs. “Just trying to remember what it was like,” he says.

“What it was like when you first came here?”

He frowns, shaking his head. “No. To be that young…like Pavel.”

“I reckon it was a confusing time,” Carol tells him. “Being seventeen wasn’t easy on anyone, much less during a time like this.” She nudges Jim and beams when he looks at her. “But like Pavel, you have people to help guide the way. Including a certain doctor…”

Despite trying not to, he grins at the mere mention of Leonard—even if it’s not by name. “I think he guides the way a bit differently than the rest of you,” he stage-whispers, causing both of them to laugh.

It’s happenstance that they run across Spock, who is busy looking at his tablet until he realizes that the corridor has other occupants. Both men freeze, staring at each other like they’ve each seen a ghost.

“Spock,” Carol greets neutrally, trying to defuse the tense situation. “Have you heard that we have a new member of the team?”

The commander raises a dark brow. “Pavel Chekov, if I am correct,” he replies. “I overheard that he is not fluent in English and that there was a miscommunication of his transfer. How is he settling in?”

“Hikaru is with him,” she answers. Carol notices the confusion on Spock’s face. “He knows Russian.”

“Interesting,” Spock comments. He turns his dark stare back to Jim. “And you? What are your proficiencies?”

Jim smiles tightly. “None as far as I know,” he states, raising his broken hand. “Once this is off, who knows. I may turn out to be a genius.”

“Unlikely,” the commander replies curtly. There is the barest hint of a sneer when he speaks to Jim, though his expression softens as he addresses Carol. “I have a meeting with your father. Good day, Lieutenant.”

He watches Spock disappear around the corner, his footfalls fading as he puts distance between the three of them. “I don’t like him,” Jim declares.

“The feeling is mutual,” Carol utters, her tone heavy. “Come, I have something to show you that may bring a smile to your face.”

Jim blinks at her, confused by the comment. “Why? Was I not smiling?”

“You’re scowling,” she tells him. “Come along, treacle.”

As it turns out, that something is the infirmary. It’s immaculate—not unexpected given that Leonard is the CMO and is very meticulous—and warmer than the other hospitals Jim has found himself in. Natural light comes through the windows, making the area appear less fearsome and stark.

Especially when Leonard comes wandering out of a storage room, clearly preoccupied with the clipboard in his hand. “Geoff,” he calls. “Where did we put the last shipment of gauze? I can’t find it.”

“Second shelf,” Geoffrey replies from his desk. He notices their visitors and smiles in greeting. “We have guests, Len.”

Jim watches a perplexed expression appear on Leonard’s face. “Carol promised to put a smile on my face,” he says, by way of explaining his visit.

“Well, she should have brought you down to the kitchens, darlin’,” the doctor jokes. He sets the clipboard down on Geoffrey’s desk and folds his arms over his chest. “Want a tour of the place?”

As he’s nodding, Geoffrey rises to his feet. “I’m going to grab something to eat while you two wander around,” he announces. He and Carol go to the door when he turns around. “Just make sure you clean up after yourselves.”

“Dammit, Geoff!” Leonard grouses over the other doctor and Carol’s laughter. He looks to Jim with a wary grin. “I’ve been getting this all morning. How about you?”

He returns the grin. “Since breakfast,” Jim commiserates as his lover comes up to him. “Are you going to kiss it better, Bones?”

“Was thinkin’ about it,” Leonard croons, brushing his hand against the younger man’s cheek and continuing to the back of his head, where he cups it. He pulls Jim closer until their lips are touching and Leonard’s wrapped an arm around his waist.

As far as kisses go between the two of them, it’s fairly chaste. It’s not to say that Jim doesn’t groan in wanting or tugs on Leonard. “That definitely makes it better,” he whispers when they part, his lips curling into a smile. He glances around the infirmary. “Care to show me around?”

“Sure,” Leonard says, linking their fingers together.

The infirmary is larger than Jim initially believed and is divided up into four sections: the main area where he entered, triage, a room full of hospital beds and equipment, and the surgical theater that lies just beyond triage. As Jim listens to Leonard, he has a vague recollection of lying on a metal table and the doctor’s face, fuzzy from pain and medication.

It had been the only thing that kept him anchored to reality, just knowing that this man—an unfamiliar person at the time—was with him. Even when Jim had nothing in a strange place, he _still_ had Leonard. “I was in here,” he states, his eyes falling on a table covered with a sheet that’s pushed up against the wall. He turns to Leonard. “I woke up here.”

His lover nods, clearly surprised that the younger man remembered. “I can’t even believe you remember that,” he declares, awestruck. Leonard gestures towards the table. “We hadn’t used the theater in a while, so Carol and Hikaru were getting it ready for Geoff and me to operate on your hand. I was stitching up your back when you came to.”

“How long was I out?” Jim inquires as he lets go of his lover’s hand, walking towards the table.

“Initially? A good four or five hours,” Leonard responds. “You passed out as we were leaving. Honestly, given the amount of trauma, I didn’t think you were going to wake up for a while or I would have sedated you sooner. You scared the shit out of me, kid.”

Jim laughs. “I’m not one to go about things the easy way, I suppose.”

“Suppose not,” his lover exhales. “Once we had you back down and stitched up, Geoff and I operated on you for five hours. Resetting bones, stitching broken skin, cleaning you up.” He points towards the room with the hospital beds. “You spent a few hours in there just so I could monitor your vitals before we moved you.”

“Why did you move me?” he questions, as there is clearly no shortage of beds. Jim turns to Leonard, angling his head, and waits.

Leonard shrugs after a while. “I thought that you would want some privacy.” He motions towards the beds. “And those hospital beds aren’t very comfortable if you want me to be honest.”

“It wasn’t so you could have me all to yourself?” Jim teases, leaning against the table. His grin brightens as the doctor saunters towards him and stands between his thighs. He traces Leonard’s flanks, hooking his fingers at the waistband of his scrubs.

Leonard cups the sides of Jim’s face, running his thumbs over his cheeks. “Maybe,” he says softly, leaning closer to nip at the younger man’s lips. “It wasn’t difficult to find you attractive, darlin’, even as bewildered as you were in the woods.”

“Probably from seeing _you_ standing there,” he counters with a sigh as Leonard mouths his jaw and neck. “All rugged like Gary Cooper.”

His lover begins to undress him, kissing and nipping the skin he uncovers. “Gary Cooper, huh?” Leonard asks as he works the button, then zipper to Jim’s pants.

“Yeah,” the younger man groans, his breath stuttering when the doctor’s hand finds its’ way into his underwear and cups his cock. “Bones…”

Leonard hushes him, the sound muffled as they press their lips together in hurried kisses. The rest of their clothing is removed, dropping all around them while they grope each other. Jim hooks his legs around Leonard’s waist, pulling him closer and causing their erections to brush upon one another.

“Darlin’,” the doctor calls sweetly. He moves his hips slowly, creating friction between their hardened lengths and causing Jim to whine. “The things I could do to you.”

“Bones,” the younger man cries out at the sensation of another thrust. He digs the fingers of his left hand into the doctor’s arm, desperate and wanting. His body trembles in anticipation of whatever Leonard wants to do to him.

Leonard goes about debauching Jim’s mouth, who fails to notice his lover’s slick fingers inching their way towards his hole. Only when they circle around the puckered flesh does he realize that this encounter was entirely premeditated. Once the outside ring of muscle is wet, the doctor pushes into Jim’s passage. The movement is slow, careful and yet manages to punch a sob out of the younger man’s throat. Leonard keeps working him open, stretching the tight area until his lover is shaking and spilling precum between their bodies.

“Bones,” Jim gasps against Leonard’s mouth. “Please…” He swallows down another cry that yearns to escape, not wanting to draw attention to them. “Please, Bones…I want you.”

The older man adheres to the request, but not without pressing his fingers against Jim’s prostate. The younger man arches into him with a strangled cry.

“I got you, darlin’,” Leonard assures as he rolls a condom on with his free hand. “So beautiful when you’re like this.” He lines himself up with Jim’s clenching hole, murmuring more endearments. “I could watch you all day.”

Jim doesn’t bother trying to muffle the sound of his moan when Leonard thrusts himself in, taking him all in one swift movement. As they fuck on the table, it’s the loudest and least inhibited he’s been in all the times they’ve slept together.

He threads his fingers through Leonard’s dark hair and rocks back onto the older man’s cock, relishing the noises Jim manages to pull from his lover.

“My darlin’,” Leonard moans as his movements grow more erratic. “Fuck…”

Jim wraps his hand around his length, wanting to meet his lover at the tipping point before they both go over its edge.

And when they find it, they cling to each other just as they’ve always done.

 

* * *

 

“Isn’t Geoffrey going to come back eventually?” Jim finds himself questioning as they lie on the floor, wrapped in a sheet.

Leonard shrugs under his cheek before he continues to stroke the younger man’s hair. “Probably not,” he replies.

“Bring a lot of your patients back here, do you?” the captain snickers. He wraps his leg around the doctor’s hips just a bit tighter.

There is the press of lips against his hairline. “Only _you_ , darlin’,” Leonard tells him fondly. “I prefer one of our beds, to be honest. That way I can I don’t get an ache in my back from lying with you.”

“John used to call me _my darling_ ,” Jim confesses. It feels strange to mention it as he lies in his lover’s arms, to be speaking of another.

He glances at Leonard and finds that he seems more concerned than offended. This man will never cease to surprise him with his compassion, though Jim doesn’t say it aloud. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. “If it upsets you, I can think of something else to call you.”

Jim shakes his head because he really doesn’t want that to happen. “I like it when you call me that. It feels comforting somehow,” he tells his lover. “Like the word is only meant for me.”

“How did you feel when he said it?”

“That I was being degraded,” Jim says after he thinks about it. “I didn’t realize it at the time, but when I’m with you…I know that you’d never hurt me.”

He remembers the doctor’s promise, the one uttered during the first few days of his recovery and how Leonard said it like a solemn vow.

Their eyes meet—hazel irises against blue. Leonard goes to peck his forehead, nodding. “If I had it my way, I would kiss you until all the bad memories disappeared,” he tells Jim, demonstrating with a chuckle. “And keep kissing you.”

“Until when?” the younger man asks.

Leonard brushes his lips against Jim’s nose. “I’d never stop, darlin’.”


	10. Chapter 10

By the time that the chill thaws and gives way to warmer spring weather, Jim has moved all of his belongings into Leonard’s room.

His bones have mended long before then and he’s able to make a loose fist under the doctor’s guidance. Jim carries a ball whose material resembles foam in the pocket of his jacket, squeezing his hand to build strength in the extremity.

The process is a tedious one, though Leonard swears that the younger man is making excellent progress. “It won’t be too long before we can take you out to the shooting range,” his lover teases one evening.

They lie in bed after a long day with a single lamp illuminating the room. Leonard is pressing his lips against Jim’s middle knuckle, where a scar resides. It’s lighter than the rest of his finger and noticeable as it turns pinker under the doctor’s mouth.

“Admiring your handiwork?” Jim quips as his lover’s tongue traces over the puckered skin. He spies the places where stitches used to be, no doubt put in place by Leonard.

A curious expression crosses over the doctor’s face as he pulls off the younger man’s finger. “My handiwork?” he questions. His brows disappear under his mussed up fringe when a lazy grin appears on Jim’s face. Leonard glances down, realizing what he’s referring to and looks at his lover from beneath his lashes.

He licks a stripe up the center of Jim’s finger using the tip of his tongue, keeping his eyes on the aroused young man. “Oh, this?” Leonard murmurs, lips brushing against the slick skin. “This is nothing.”

Jim watches with wide eyes as his lover sucks the digit into his mouth, so slow and teasingly. His cock feels like it’s swelling as it pushes insistently against his underwear, making them uncomfortably tight. “Bones,” he stammers.

Leonard winks at him as his lips meet the end of Jim’s finger, flicking the tip with his tongue. He goes about foreplay with deliberate motions that he knows will make the other man yearn for more.

And it does; Jim is driven to the point of madness and more or less shoves Leonard onto his back. He pins the doctor’s wrists to the mattress as he brings their mouths together in a clash of lips and teeth. The younger man thinks he has the upper hand and goes to nibble on his lover’s lower lip, only to be surprised to find himself below the doctor’s body.

“Bones,” he murmurs, hooking his legs around Leonard’s waist and rolling his hips.

“Shh, darlin’,” the older man tells him, removing Jim’s shirt and mouthing the skin he uncovers. His tongue traces a line of saliva from the waistband of his boxers to his nipples, where the doctor sucks on them until they are red and hard.

Jim cries out and paws at Leonard’s back. “ _Baby_ ,” he whines, the word pried loose with well-timed suction. He sinks onto the mattress, his eyes closed and jaw slack as his lover continues his ministrations while his hands remove both of their remaining clothes.

“I know,” Leonard assures, kissing a path back down his torso. He pauses over his navel, drawing a circle around it and ending the design with a quick nip to the younger man’s skin. “The things I’m gonna do to you.”

It’s a tantalizing promise, so sweet and so seductive.

Jim ends up riding Leonard, whose hands are firmly rooted to his hips. He feels the tug of fingertips burying themselves into the delicate skin with each movement, keeping him anchored to reality— _their_ reality.

His lover’s cockhead presses into his prostate, teasing the gland as Jim rises and falls. It sends sparks of pleasure running up and down his spine, drawing out each moan and gasp. His length leaks precum onto Leonard’s stomach, turning the fine hairs and golden skin sticky with fluid.

When he cums, it’s truly a release. Jim’s learned not to bite his lips or suppress the noises he makes, finding that the lack of these actions literally takes his breath away. He ends up panting, swallowing lungfuls of sweet oxygen as his heart pounds within in his chest.

Leonard strokes his back as he pounds his cock into the younger man until he stiffens and cries out, digging his fingernails into Jim’s skin.

The spike in pain causes him to groan, the sound muffled by the older man’s neck and his own unwillingness to move. They roll to their sides, still tangled together.

“Darlin’,” Leonard mumbles, rousing Jim from a doze. “My arm’s falling asleep.”

He apologizes and lifts his upper body off the appendage before settling back onto the mattress. The weight of his lover’s arm cradles him by the waist and they continue to lie there, basking in the afterglow as sweat dries upon their skin.

It’s moments like these that Jim savors. When everything is silent and still, allowing the veils of time to nearly appear to the naked eye.

He’s passed through them and into Leonard’s arms, where he drifts off only thinking of good things. Things that drive away the bad, the wicked, the evil.

Things that are no longer tainted by John Harrison’s memory.

 

* * *

 

“If you keep pouting, your face will stay like that,” Leonard quips as he shoves his medical kit into a black backpack. His eyes aren’t even on Jim and he _knows_ that the younger man is wroth that the doctor has to go on an overnight.

Jim makes a disgruntled sound and drops his arms to his sides. “Not pouting,” he mumbles as he goes to lean against his lover’s desk. “Just showing my feelings on the matter.”

“Oh, believe me,” Leonard starts to say, “I hate these trips too, but it’s my turn to go out with the team. Besides, I can’t keep stalling now that you’re all healed.”

“You stalled on my behalf?” Jim asks, touched by the gesture. He grabs onto the doctor’s arm as he walks by and pulls him back. “That’s so romantic, Bones!”

Leonard rolls his eyes, shaking the younger man’s hand off his arm. “Shut it, kid,” he grumbles, despite his lips quirking into a grin. “I would have done it for anyone, so don’t think you’re special.”

“I _am_ special,” he counters.

“Of _course_ you are,” Leonard sighs, giving Jim’s shoulder a squeeze. He pecks his cheek. “But you’re also distracting me.”

He hops on the balls of his feet. “Not my fault that I’m so distracting,” Jim chirps.

“I’m sure Spock will have plenty of things to say if you make me late,” the doctor counters.

Jim’s smile fades when the commander is mentioned. Aside from new contempt-filled remarks, neither he nor Spock has gone out of their way to make amends. It makes mealtimes rather uncomfortable, but the captain is slowly learning to keep his mouth shut.

“I can hear the insults flying through that head of yours,” Leonard drawls. He has just finished zipping up the backpack and is now staring at the younger man.

The doctor is dressed in similar clothing to that worn on the day they ran into each other in the woods. Jim can remember every detail of those moments, even if they lasted for mere minutes.

“I’m not insulting him,” he replies, affronted. “I’m just thinking of all the ways to kill him if something happens to you.”

Leonard’s bark of laughter fills the room. “Kid, you’re something else,” the doctor says once he’s composed enough to speak. He cups Jim’s elbows in both his hands, tugging on the younger man until he’s bracketed by his thighs. “Nothing exciting ever happens on these things, save when I found you.”

“That’s something,” Jim mutters under his breath, looking down at their feet.

Two fingers lift his chin and he meets Leonard’s eyes. “Darlin’,” he intones, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Promise?”

A sweet press of his lover’s mouth against his own seals the assurance, though it does nothing to quiet Jim’s fears. He knows war—more than anyone ought to—and he knows loss.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Jim whispers, his emotions forming a lump in his throat.

It’s the closest he’s come to uttering those three words, something that frightens him. They have now tarnished thanks to John’s deceit and stick inside Jim’s throat like broken glass. He wants to be able to say them without nausea or panic coursing through his body.

Leonard is patient with him, though he wonders how long it will last. Surely his lover will get tired of dealing with Jim’s baggage and move on to a more willing man, someone who can reciprocate his feelings without dread.

“You won’t,” Leonard whispers back. “And I doubt you’d let me go without a fight.”

Jim chuckles. “Damn right, Bones,” he quips. “You’re mine…no one else’s.”

“Your sense of entitlement over me is oddly endearing, darlin’,” the doctor says, clearly amused. He kisses the younger man’s hairline. “Now are you going to help me pack or what?”

Begrudgingly, Jim hands his lover items that he asks for and watches them being put away. When they’re finished, Leonard takes him by the hand and they walk out to the courtyard, where rest of the team—Alexander, Gaila, Spock, and two others—wait for them.

“Now, you behave yourself,” Leonard tells him. “I don’t want to hear from Carol or Nyota that you’ve managed to turn this place upside with help from Scotty, Hikaru, and Pavel.”

Jim nods, trying to force a smile. “Just come back,” he replies gruffly. He embraces his lover and holds him tightly, desperate. “ _Please_. I don’t want you meeting any other men in the woods.”

“If I do, none of them will hold a candle to you, darlin’,” Leonard whispers. He presses his lips to Jim’s temple. “Be good.”

He doesn’t want to let go, but he notices several pairs of eyes staring at them. Jim watches him go, turning back to give him a reassuring smile that brings out Leonard’s dimples.

“You will see that delightful grin soon enough,” Carol whispers into his ear, causing him to startle. She giggles at him, much to his annoyance.

Jim rolls his eyes. “I _know_  I will,” he grouses as she wraps her arms around his waist in a hug. He returns it and drops his cheek to the top of her head. “I’m just going to miss him is all.”

“And there is no doubt in my mind that Len will miss you just as much,” Carol replies.

The team files into the two Range Rovers parked by the gates. Through the front window, Jim can see Spock in the driver’s seat, who stares back as Alexander speaks to him. Eventually, the commander breaks eye contact and responds to his superior as he turns the engine.

Without much else, the team leaves, driving through the gates and disappearing into the quickly approaching darkness.

They unknowingly take a bit of Jim’s heart with them, leaving him lost and alone without Leonard’s constant presence.

“Oh, treacle,” Carol sighs, rubbing her palm against the middle of his back. “Come along, let’s get ourselves some of Scotty’s stores and go to Nyota’s to keep your mind off it.”

Jim glances at her and sees the sympathetic expression on her face. “You swear that Nyota won’t make fun of me?” he asks as they go off to find the mad Scotsman.

Carol’s laughter doesn’t bode well for him.

 

* * *

 

In Leonard’s absence, Jim keeps himself occupied out of old habits. Sitting idly has never been one of his strong suits and usually leads to him finding trouble, so he seeks out Scotty or Hikaru, offering his assistance.

He spends time buried in the guts of machinery and covered in greasy residue that stains his skin, clothes, and bits of his hair. It reminds him of being back home in Iowa, before the war, and how he would help Frank out in the barn.

His step-father may not have been the warmest individual, but he loved to show Jim and Samuel how things worked. They would spend hours in the barn, holding tools and listening to Frank as he explained each use of various parts. When they were done for the day, the boys would flank their step-father’s sides with his hands on each of their shoulders.

“Good job, kids” or “You’re both so smart,” he told them with a rare smile.

These times with Frank developed Samuel’s love of science and honed Jim’s curiosity. It also helped them understand their step-father on a deeper level and made George’s untimely death sting just a bit less.

As Jim shifts through a jeep’s fuel injection, he realizes how much he misses Frank and their time together. The young man wonders what his step-father would make of the change in technology and if he would delight in it as much as Jim imagined he would.

“You’re still out here?” Hikaru questions. He is approaching him with Pavel in tow, as per usual.

Jim looks up and notices that dusk is falling all around him. “I lost track of time,” he replies as his friends come up alongside him. “But I made good headway. Take a look!”

Hikaru peers into the jeep’s hood and lets out a whistle. “It almost looks like an engine again!” he exclaims, impressed. “Pavel, come take a look.”

The teen is still bashful around anyone who isn’t Hikaru, though he’s warmed up to Jim in the last few weeks. He stands on his tiptoes and glances over the other man’s shoulder. “Zat is fuel injection, _da_?”

“Yeah,” Jim replies as he wipes his hands on a cloth. He smiles at Pavel, who isn’t paying attention. “Or will be once I’m done putting it back together.”

Pavel nods. “I used to help my _otets_ fix automobile in Russia,” he tells both men, staring at them with wide brown eyes. “Best one was not Russian, but from _Aziya_.”

“Okay, kiddo,” Hikaru laughs as he claps the teen’s shoulder. “Now you’re living dangerously.” He glances to Jim who is putting away his tools. “Are you heading in?”

He shrugs. “May as well,” he replies, gesturing the darkening sky. “The light is gone.”

“What does zis mean, living dangerously?” Pavel questions as they go inside the castle.

“It means that you’re taking risks,” Hikaru explains, much to the confusion of the teenager. He repeats the answer in Russian, to which Pavel nods.

English has come quickly to the boy, though there are times that he becomes perplexed by the constant stream of chattering in the dining hall. The core group, Spock included, have made efforts to answer his questions and repeat what they’ve said until the teen understands.

It helps that all of them adore Pavel, who is like a little brother. He’s mindblowingly smart and incredibly kind when he isn’t overcome by shyness.

After a shower and a set of fresh clothes, Jim makes his way down to the main hall for dinner. As he’s passing through the entryway, he hears a commotion coming from outside: the sounds of people shouting and the rumble of the gates being drawn open.

He comes out onto the steps just as Spock stumbles through to the courtyard, where he collapses in a heap of shaking limbs. Jim’s body goes cold with dread as he rushes up to the commander and grabs him by the front of his jacket. “Where’s everyone else?” he shouts.

“Khan,” Spock croaks. His face is pale from adrenaline and fear alike, the skin marred by cuts, bruises, and dirt.

Jim balls his fists and pulls the man closer. “What happened?” he growls.

“There was an ambush,” the commander gasps. “None of us were properly armed to defend ourselves…”

His heart nearly stops beating when he hears Spock's explanation, making it difficult to keep his composure. Jim swallows and looks the commander in the eye. “What happened to the others?”

“They’re dead,” Spock answers.

Jim gives him a hard shake, pushing him to the muddy ground. “I don’t believe you!” he yells.

“I tried to help…”

He punches the commander before he can get the rest of his sentence out, leaving him with a bloody nose. “I don’t believe you!” Jim grabs him again, shaking him harder. “Where’s Bones? Where is he, Spock? Is he dead? Tell me!”

Others have come out to the courtyard, all of them in a stunned silence as the two enemies tussle on the ground. None of them matter to Jim - only Leonard.

“He was trying to help Alexander,” Spock tells him. “I told him we needed to go, but he wouldn’t leave him and Khan came, so I ran.”

“ _You_ left _him_!” Jim screams, his rage hitting its boiling point. “You left him to _save yourself_! You’re a fucking coward!”

Spock grabs him by the throat and jumps on top of him. “Khan took him,” he shouts back, easing his grip on Jim’s skin. “As far as I am aware, Dr. McCoy still lives.”


	11. Chapter 11

Jim stands in the doorway of the triage unit, watching Geoffrey patching up Spock’s superficial injuries and glaring all the while.

Tension is thick within the four walls of the room and no one dares to speak. Every so often, a barely concealed wince appears on the commander’s face as Geoffrey applies gentle pressure to a cut or bruise. Jim wishes it would pain him more, as it _should be_ Leonard tending to him while he chastises Spock for being reckless.

 _Bones_ , the young man thinks. His heart clenches painfully along with his stomach at the thought of his lover, whose fate could be anything by this point.

He hopes that if the doctor is dead, that it was quick and painless, for that’s a kindness compared to what John is capable of. And if John recognized Leonard from Jim’s rescue…

…perhaps that’s good enough of a reason to keep him alive.

Or it’s just another to murder him.

“Am I finished?” Spock inquires, inspecting the bandage around his hand. He glances at Geoffrey with dark, unreadable eyes.

The doctor nods. “For now,” he answers, looking between both men. “Just try not to kill each other while I step out.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Jim growls, his stare locked with Spock’s.

Geoffrey sighs ruefully and puts away his things before leaving. The sound of his retreating footsteps echoes and puts space between him and the two other men in an effort to stay clear of any altercations.

Jim doesn’t bother watching his departure and continues to stare at Spock, whose composure doesn’t falter. He rubs the bandage on his hand and clears his throat. “I suspect you want to know everything that happened in order to come up with an extraction plan for Dr. McCoy,” the commander states.

“Something like that,” the younger man answers. He shifts his body weight from one leg to the other. “But first I want to know something. Did you leave Bones just to get back at me?”

The statement causes Spock’s eyes to widen in mild horror. “I would not do such a thing,” he says, shaking his head. “I have much respect for Dr. McCoy and if I could, I would have made sure that he too made it to safety, regardless of _our_ contentious relationship.”

“Contentious?” Jim parrots, bitterly. He laughs, harsher than he’s ever heard himself. “That’s what you call it? This _relationship_ between us?”

Spock frowns. “I am being generous in my description.”

“We _hate_ each other!” the younger man shouts. “You wanted to let me die before you even met me! And then you tried to kill me yourself!”

The commander jumps up from the bed. “I _did not_ try to kill you,” he counters, his voice coming out like a hiss.

“So what do you call that stunt you pulled?” Jim asks, putting himself in Spock’s personal space. He taps the other man’s shoulder. “Just trying to make sure I remembered my place? Or you just wanted to help jogging my memory?”

“What I did was inexcusable,” he replies. “I did not think of the repercussions of subjecting you to a similar environment to where you were held and I am remorseful of my actions.”

Jim pushes him away with a sound of disgust and starts pacing the room, allowing the silence to return as his mind races on a single subject — _Bones_.

“Shall I tell you about what transpired?” Spock finally asks. He waits for Jim’s nod and returns it with one of his own. “We went back to Inverness after receiving various reports that Khan and his men were scouting the area. Our initial itinerary only had us going as far north as Fort William, but Admiral Marcus insisted we go even though we were undermanned and not properly outfitted for such an engagement.”

The commander’s words send a chill through his body. “And then what?” Jim questions.

“We arrived and were ambushed by Khan and his forces. Gaila and the others were killed instantly from gunfire,” Spock answers, sadness licking at his voice. “Myself, Dr. McCoy, and the admiral engaged in a short firefight where Alexander was mortally wounded. The doctor went to cover him, but he was injured. I don’t know how badly, but I could hear him yelling that he was a doctor and needed to tend to his patient as I escaped.”

Spock hasn’t told him something and Jim catches onto it quickly, as if he knows that important items are being left out. “You’re not telling me everything,” he says with an eerie calm.

“And neither are you,” the commander replies coolly. His eyebrows raise, one of them disfigured by a scratch that’s been covered with butterfly bandages. “I think it’s time that we are honest with one another, Mr. Kirk.”

“It’s actually _Captain_ Kirk,” Jim corrects. His fear of being found out is gone now that Leonard’s life hangs in the balance.

Spock nods at this. “Captain,” he echoes, as if he’s testing out the title. “It is my belief that you are not one of Khan’s creatures, though you _do_ know him somehow.”

“I will tell you everything, but you have to promise me something in return,” Jim concedes.

“If it’s my promise to conduct an extraction of Dr. McCoy, you have my word,” Spock says solemnly.

He sighs with relief, though Jim shakes his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not all.” This earns a curious expression from the commander. “You have to cast out all logic and believe _every word_ I say.”

“I am rapidly coming to the conclusion that I will not like this,” is all Spock says.

 

* * *

 

Jim leans against Leonard’s desk with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the commander as he stands before him, pale-faced and dumbstruck.

Spock’s jaw is completely slack and hanging open, matching his widened eyes and lack of speech. If this had happened at another time or place, Jim imagines himself laughing at the other man, but now he can’t bring himself to do it.

Telling his story—all of it—from its beginning in his godfather’s tent where Jim was introduced to John Harrison to the current time had been long, tedious, and exhausting. To his surprise, Spock had stayed silent through it all and looked upon him with worry as he spoke of Christopher’s death and John’s betrayal, giving Jim a moment to compose himself.

Now that he’s finished, it’s a lot for anyone to process. There are times that even _he_ doubts the events and wonders when he’ll wake up from all of this to find it to be a very realistic dream.

“Fascinating,” Spock finally responds, blinking his eyes.

For all of the reactions he expected, it certainly wasn’t that. “Fascinating?” Jim questions, raising a brow.

“Indeed,” the commander adds. He places his hands behind his back and begins to pace the room.

Jim watches him, confused. “I just told you that I traveled through time by touching a rock and you say it’s _fascinating_?”

Spock pauses. “Should I have another reaction that you would deem more appropriate?”

“Are you joshing me?” Jim deadpans.

The other man shakes his head. “I can say without complete honesty that I am not joshing you, Captain,” he states. Spock purses his lips. “It is quite miraculous that you were transported to the current time to encounter John Harrison once again.”

“I think you’re confusing your terminology, Spock,” Jim sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “You mean to say bad luck.”

Spock shakes his head. “Not so. Perhaps there was a reason—one beyond all known logic—that you were sent _here_.”

“If you’re trying to say that it’s my destiny to save the world, you’re wrong,” Jim counters.

“But even you do not know what your destiny is,” Spock reminds him.

He groans, burying his face in his hands. “How is that going to help us get Bones out of there?” he asks, his voice muffled. Jim pops his head up and shrugs helplessly.

“You know Kha— _John Harrison’s_ true origin and his vulnerabilities,” Spock reasons. He shifts uncomfortably, something that does not go unnoticed by the younger man.

Jim frowns. “What?” he questions, dropping his arms to his hands and walking over to him. “What is it?”

“What I am about to say may be overstepping my bounds, but I feel that it is pertinent, given our current circumstances,” the commander explains.

The younger man makes an impatient gesture. “Out with it, then.”

“It is my belief that one of his vulnerabilities is his feelings for you,” Spock bluntly tells him. He raises his hand when Jim goes to speak. “You may not believe it and you are right in thinking this, but he did spare your life fifty years ago, as he did when he found you once again.”

He swallows roughly, remembering John’s offer of becoming his consort. “You want me to exploit his emotions,” Jim whispers.

“Just as he exploited your trust,” Spock replies, gently. “It’s only logical.”

The captain has to laugh because all of this sounds ridiculous. “There is no logic in any of this, Spock.”

“Yet here you are,” the commander comments. “You and John Harrison share a common past. Those similarities, along with your relationship, will make it easier for us to rescue Dr. McCoy and damage his campaign in the British Isles. Come with me.”

They leave the infirmary and venture out into the hallways. It is unusually sedate inside the castle and Jim hardly sees a single person as they go to the third floor of the structure.

He has never been to this part of the castle, someplace that requires restricted access given the amount of intel that comes in and out. Only people in communications and strategy can enter using a thumbprint scan, which Jim marvels at as Spock rests his hand on the surface. The commander makes no comments, to the other man’s surprise, and holds the door open for Jim to walk through.

Beyond the entrance is a room shrouded in darkness and secrecy. The walls are hidden behind monitors and modern technology, though the young man surmises it to be like one of those radio shows he used to listen to as a child.

If only his brother were here to see this…

“Spock!” Nyota exclaims as she jumps from her seat and into his arms. She holds him closely, her face buried into his shoulder. He embraces her and murmurs into her dark hair, stroking the strands before they pull back to kiss.

When they part, Jim clears his throat. “Well, _that_ was interesting,” he states.

“I do not wish to comment on the matter,” Spock fires back, his arms still around Nyota, who snickers.

There are others chuckling too—Hikaru, Scotty, and Pavel. They are seated in a semicircle in front of them along with Keenser and Carol.

“Carol!” Jim calls, rushing to her and hugging her. He cups the back of her head, kissing her temple. She latches onto him, pale and trembling. He listens to her soft whimpers and hushes her, whispering words of comfort into her ear.

Spock speaks. “Have you been in contact in Archer and Barnett?” he asks.

“They’re deploying fighters from London, Germany, and the Netherlands within the hour,” Hikaru reports. “And the Azores are on standby.”

Jim glances at Spock from over Carol’s shoulder. “London?” he says, letting go of his friend. “I thought it got leveled in 1994.”

“All the more reason to make it our main area of operations,” Keenser interjects suddenly. His voice is unexpectedly deep and manages to shock everyone in the room—Scotty included. The man looks around, unaffected, and shrugs his shoulders.

Scotty, still staring at his friend, shakes his head. “What Keenser said,” he replies, finally regaining his composure. He turns to Spock and Jim. “Rebel bases are spread throughout Europe, but London is where we keep our ‘fleet. And in Dover.”

“What does that mean for Bones?” Jim asks. He licks his lips nervously when the room falls silent once more. “We can’t just leave him.”

Hikaru shakes his head. “And we won’t,” he says. “We’ve been able to pinpoint where Khan is operating out of when he’s in the Isles.”

“Where is it?” Jim follows Hikaru to a screen, which lights up at a single stroke of the keyboard in front it.

His friend grins. “Edinburgh,” he answers. “He’s operating out of Balmoral Castle, which isn’t as heavily guarded as it used to be. You can thank the London bombings for that. Khan’s sent most of his heavy lifters elsewhere or back to India.”

A black and white aerial image comes up on screen and is decorated with various dots that were added after the photo was taken.

“See those?” Hikaru questions as he points to the red dots. Jim nods. “Those are the minefields around the perimeter of the castle. The rest of the land isn’t fortified…to give rebels a sense of ease if they were to infiltrate the area.”

Carol comes up behind them, snorting in anger. “That’s vile,” she snaps.

“What do the green dots represent?” Jim asks, noticing how there aren’t many of them—just sets of two at the corners of the photograph.

“Snipers,” Carol tells him.

He looks over the image, trying to think like John even if it makes his stomach crawl. His former lover was always prepared and had every plan under his belt so he would never be surprised.

Jim flashes back to their tent in Ardennes-Alsace. He can see their cots pushed together, all the sheets and blankets neatly made and tucked into the corners. Everything is in its place, save for John’s journal—those sweet words mean nothing now.

And the plans for the German’s attack hidden in plain sight.

He looks closer at the screen, noticing a stretch of land that isn’t weaponized. “There,” Jim says, pointing to it. “I bet they use this to come and go. We could enter the castle that way.”

“But there are still snipers,” Scotty reasons.

Jim holds up a finger. “Who are pointed at the main route and it’s perimeter,” he tells them. “We need a diversion. Where are their aircraft stored?”

“Over here,” Spock says, pointing to another unguarded area. He turns to Jim, who is still deep in thought, and raises a brow. “You want to attack the aircraft.”

He shrugs. “Just to incapacitate them and send their men away from the castle,” he replies. Jim gestures to the screen. “How is their radar?”

“Nothin’ to write home about,” Scotty answers. “A bit archaic compared to their aircraft, if you ask me.”

Carol nods in agreement. “The weapons team in London has developed a jamming system on board each craft in their ‘fleet,” she adds.

“The London aircraft will need to go in as the first strike, hitting their carriers,” Jim surmises. “Khan will send his men over for the counterstrike, but they won’t be able to get off the ground. The Germans and the Dutch can come through and take out the snipers, as well as set off the minefields, so we have a clear escape route.”

Spock is looking over the screen when Jim turns to him. He glances at the younger man and shrugs. “It will work,” he declares. “London will want to evacuate everyone out of Doune.”

“Will they allow us passage on one of their planes?”

“Yes, especially if we are successful with Dr. McCoy’s rescue,” the commander replies. “He will require medical attention and air travel will be the swiftest mode of transportation.” He glances at Nyota. “Tell our crew to proceed with evacuation protocols. They will need to depart in no more than two hours.”

She swallows, visibly shaken by the turn of events. “Yes sir,” Nyota whispers before going to her station.

“The eight of us will need to…” Spock begins to say before Jim cuts him off.

“ _Eight_ of us?” he exclaims. He tilts his head, trying to decide if the commander is just giving him false hope. “So you want me to come with you?”

“Yes,” Spock answers, sounding mildly bothered by the interruption. “I would cite regulation regarding a civilian joining a military operation, but I know you will simply ignore it.”

He claps Spock on the back with a grin. “See? We’re getting to know each other!”

 

* * *

 

Traveling to Edinburgh is the longest hour Jim has ever experienced in all the years he’s been alive.

As their envoy draws closer, time seems to slow down until it’s trickling and all he can think about is Leonard. He wants this plan that he and Spock concocted to work so Jim can hold the doctor in his arms and hear his deep drawl once again.

“How far does the jamming system’s abilities cover?” he asks Carol.

She shrugs as she loads her weapon with bullets. “They won’t see us coming from a technological standpoint.” Carol goes to brush a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. “The Augments won’t rely on old anything but their systems. They call our way—the old ways— flawed, though nothing can beat good eyesight and paying attention.”

“So we will be able to strike first?”

She turns to Jim and goes to rest her hand upon his. “Treacle, they won’t know what hit them,” she assures with a wan smile. She continues on loading her gun. “And when they do, their main mode of defense will be obliterated.”

“What Dr. Marcus means to say, Jim, is that Khan and his army will be toast,” Hikaru tells him from the other side of the vehicle. A bright smile lights up his face, a clear indication for bloodlust. “Both figuratively _and_ literally.”

Jim listens to the choir of laughter from Hikaru, Pavel, Keenser, and even Carol, who has been quite solemn since her father’s death. She’s refused to speak about it—at least until Leonard is rescued and brought to safety. He hasn’t tested her, believing that when she is ready, Carol will come around.

After all, she is one of the strongest people he’s ever encountered.

Up front, Spock is speaking to the squadron leader of the London ‘fleet. Jim can’t hear his voice over the rumble of the engine, though if Scotty’s grin is anything to go by, it’s good news. Nyota is curled up behind him, resting her head against the commander’s seat as she writes down information being relayed through the radio.

He wonders what Christopher would make of this operation. Would his godfather criticize their guerrilla tactics or praise the group’s quick, out-of-the-box thinking? How would he react to the Germans being their allies and the mish-mash of people that make-up the rebellion?

Would Christopher be proud of Jim for leading this charge with Spock, effectively putting their differences aside for the common good? His godfather knew all too well how stubborn the youngest Kirk could be, so perhaps the maturity Jim gained would make him chuckle a bit.

 _About damn time_ , he imagines him saying with a smirk and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Captain,” Spock calls, ignoring the stares the name garners.

Hikaru looks between both men, frowning. “Are you being facetious?” he asks.

“ _Jim_ ,” the commander says, his tone clearly making no room for argument as he glares at Hikaru. “Begin your preparations to exit the vehicle.”

They are left near the perimeter of unprotected land, shrouded in darkness as he and Spock advance upon Balmoral. Most of their trek is mercifully silent as neither man wants to engage in small talk until the question that has been plaguing Jim since Hikaru’s comment forces him to speak.

“Why didn’t you tell them?” he asks. The silhouette of Spock’s face turns towards him, no doubt with a look of confusion. “When you called me captain…you could have told them the truth about me, but you didn’t. Why?”

Spock halts his steps and seems to ponder his answer for a while. Jim makes no move to rush him, as it would probably be unwise given the situation. “My logic governed me to keep silent because while I am certain that none of our friends would likely believe me, it is also not my story to tell.”

“Uh, thank you,” the younger man says, clearly surprised. “I appreciate it.”

The commander shrugs. “It is nothing.”

Balmoral comes into view through the dense forest that surrounds it. Just as the aerial image showed, the area that Jim and Spock are coming through is unguarded.

And somewhere within the stone walls, Leonard is being kept and is still hopefully alive. The very thought of being so close to his lover causes Jim’s throat to ache. “Do you have an idea of where they would keep Bones?”

“Somewhere in close proximity to an execution range,” Spock replies. He turns to Jim, clearly his throat. “My apologies.”

Jim shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he croaks. “Go on.”

“I read through Dr. Marcus’ report of your rescue in which she stated that you were led out a doorway that was close to the platform that John Harrison was whipping you on,” the commander continues. He points to a portion of the castle where the windows are low to the ground. “It is my belief that he would follow the same pattern and keep Dr. McCoy near an area that is easily accessible to a courtyard. That is located on the other side of the wall.”

The captain purses his lips. “Will Scotty be able to get inside once the London ‘fleet has begun the aerial strike?”

“Yes,” Spock answers. “Once we have extracted Dr. McCoy and planted bombs in the prisoner area, he will take us to the rendezvous point where Admiral Barnett will take us to London.”

Jim blows air through his lips and nods. “How much longer until the London ‘fleet gets here?”

As the words leave his mouth, the rumble of aircraft comes from overhead. Both of them look up to see fighters zooming through the darkness, leading only seconds before an explosion shakes the ground.

Just beyond Balmoral, fire lights up the sky. More blasts echo through the night, the sound deafening as Jim and Spock advance upon the castle. It doesn’t matter if the soil rolls with the detonation or that more fighters from other countries continue their assault; it means that they are one step closer to Leonard.

 _He must be hating this_ , Jim thinks to himself. It brings a smile to his face as he pictures his lover’s cursing and eye rolling, know that the firefight going on outside is just for him.

They end up at a side door whose lock is broken by the commander and the butt of his rifle. It swings up, the sound drowned out by another blast and allows for them to enter the castle without being noticed immediately.

The corridor is dank and poorly lit. It reminds Jim of a cellar he and his men hid in during a patrol; the smell of wet soil and stagnant air that was too sweet when breathed in.

“Follow me,” Spock intones.

Jim does, allowing the commander to lead the way without argument. They pause every so often to place a timed bomb at various points, something that everyone had insisted on when this plan was concocted.

The final _fuck you_ to Khan and his regime; if it killed the man all the better.

A guard surprises them as they turn a corner, though Jim is quick to dispatch him with a sucker punch using his own weapon. The man falls without a sound, his face bleeding profusely as he and Spock step over the body. The latter pauses to retrieve a set of keys from his belt before they press on.

“We are heading in the right direction,” Jim says in a hushed voice to which he receives a gesture of agreement from the other man. “Hopefully Bones is happy to see us.”

Spock raises a brow, not impressed with the captain’s humor. “One _would_ assume so, Captain.”

 

* * *

 

Finding Leonard isn’t a difficult task, thanks to the commander’s stubborn logic.

It also helps that they can hear the doctor’s pained groans echoing from several turns away. As soon as both men recognize his voice, Jim and Spock rush towards Leonard’s cell, avoiding falling debris and shaking structures.

“Bones!” Jim calls despite himself.

Leonard curses a blue streak. “Dammit kid!” he grouses as Spock and Jim find him laid over a dirty table behind iron bars. “What’re you doing here?”

It is safe to say that the doctor looks like hell. His complexion is pale and waxy where it isn’t covered with dirt and grime. A nasty cut blemishes his cheek, the dried blood caked to Leonard’s skin and facial hair. There is more blood on his clothing, clearly not his own, and what isn’t stained is torn.

Leonard’s leg, however, is the main concern. Judging by the unnatural angle it lies in and how Leonard grits his teeth through the pain, it’s clearly broken.

The commander passes the keys over to Jim and goes to stand watch. “Just listening to what you said earlier,” the younger man replies as he goes through several keys before finding the correct one.

“Which was?” Leonard grunts, clutching his leg.

Jim opens the cell door and rushes to his lover’s side without a second thought. “Be good,” he replies as he surveys the damage. “So I’m just following orders, Bones.”

“Jim,” Leonard chokes out as the younger man touches his thigh. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Spock clears his throat from the doorway. “What is Dr. McCoy’s status?”

“ _He’s_ here?” the doctor exclaims before crying out in pain. “Am I hallucinating?”

Jim shakes his head. “No,” he replies with a grin before addressing Spock. “His leg is broken. We’ll need to stabilize it before we move him. Can you find anything that we can use as a splint?”

“Captain, we don’t have enough time,” the commander counters as he comes into the cell. He looks over the doctor and turns back to Jim. “I can carry him out.”

Leonard cries out. “Dammit man, I’m a doctor, not a stuffed toy!” he shouts as Spock goes to touch him. He slides his arm over the commander’s shoulders and swallows. “I may throw up on you.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Spock tells him.

Jim watches as the commander places the other man into a fireman’s carry, apologizing every time the doctor whimpers in pain. He winces, sympathetic to his lover’s plight and whispers assures as he keeps an eye out on the activity outside of the cell.

Once everything is said and done, they quietly make their way towards the direction of the courtyard. Jim pauses to place more bombs, setting their timers as quickly as possible before hurrying to catch up with Spock and Leonard.

“Whose idea was this?” he hears his lover demanding. “And be careful!”

Spock’s sigh is very audible. “It was Jim’s.”

“And you _listened to_ him?” Leonard shouts. “Are you insane?”

The commander glances at Jim as the younger man catches up to them, clearly annoyed by the injured man’s complaining. “I am starting to wonder that myself, doctor.”

“Don't agree with me, Spock,” Leonard groans. “It makes me _very_ uncomfortable.”

It seems that the three men are home free as they come upon a large door that surely leads to freedom. Jim goes ahead of them, shooting the lock off and kicking the barricade open. He is greeted by the night sky and fresh air, which he inhales deeply.

Several yards in front of them is the jeep and Scotty’s face leaning out the window. “Hurry up!” he shouts across the courtyard. “We haven’t got a lot of time, lads!”

“I’ll cover you,” Jim assures as he pushes Spock ahead of him.

He observes the commander rushing towards the vehicle, his and Leonard’s figures dimmed by the darkness. Jim is about to follow them when he hears a click behind his ear.

Turning slowly, he finds himself face to face with a pistol and John’s pale blue eyes staring at him.

“James,” his former lover whispers, his voice no longer a warm caress, but like war and death. “It seems we have unfinished business.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to Bre, my lovely friend and beta, and Leah, who is darling! You ladies have been my biggest cheerleaders on this project, as well as others, and I cannot say thank you enough. 
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who read, commented, and kudoed. You're all so wonderful!

“Are these your little friends?” John asks, malice curling around his tone as he glances at Spock and Leonard, unimpressed by them.

Jim shifts, the end of the pistol following his movement. “This is between us, John.”

“Is it, though?” the Englishman questions, turning his pale eyes back to the younger man. “I remember the wounded one—he carried you out of my fortress.” He smiles at Jim’s sharp intake of breath, taking a step closer to him. “Did you truly believe that I would not recall his face, my darling? That he was a remnant of a time not long past? Just a blip, a millisecond within a moment? You have forgotten how much I remember, James.”

The captain swallows. “Is that why you didn’t kill him?”

“Yes _and_ no,” John says, shrugging. “I know you; you’re loyal to a fault. Once you care for another, you will follow them to the ends of the Earth if they desired it.”

He goes to refute the Englishman’s statement, his throat forming the words and his mouth opening. To say that John is wrong and that Jim does not easily give away his trust.

“It is true, James. You know it is,” the older man intones. “I bewitched you.”

“You _manipulated_ me,” Jim snaps.

His former lover’s eyes flash angrily. “I _loved_ you,” John growls, curling his free hand into a tight fist. “I allowed you to be free, to be open, and to be yourself. Not the boy your family thought you were nor the good little soldier Christopher believed you to be, but _you_.”

“That isn’t love, John.”

“Do they know?” the Englishman questions. “Your friends? Do they know that I was the first one to have you? That you enjoyed every second of it? And how I clamped my hand over your pretty little mouth to keep you quiet?”

Jim knows that John is gloating him and trying to gain a reaction, something to use against him. “Yes,” he answers, raising his chin in rebellion.

“Interesting,” the other man comments. “And they still accept you?”

Leonard’s voice rings out. “Jim!” he calls, clearly filled with terror and pain.

“The doctor, he cares for you,” John notices, searching Jim’s face until his brows raise in amazement. “And you return his feelings.” The statement seems like a question as if the older man is asking if Jim has truly moved on from him.

There had been a time when Jim truly loved the Englishman: a time where his world revolved around John and his thoughts always drifted to him.

A time where Jim was consumed.

Even after his betrayal, the younger man couldn’t stop thinking about him. It drove Jim mad as memories of his former lover’s voice, touch, and smile haunted him no matter what he was doing. He would wake to John’s laughter in his ears and fall asleep with his mind awash in pale blue light.

Like glaciers or the shallow edge of a beach. So pale and mysterious with the ability to keep Jim awake at night.

Now things are different—he knows better than to trust the sweet promises and allure of the Englishman. His specter no longer has power over Jim, nor does it tear at his heart.

“I do,” he says, watching as the expression on John’s face deepens.

It is momentary and soon his brow lies smoothly under his black fringe. “Is that how easily you will discard me, my darling?” he questions, the corner of his lips quirking. John nods towards the Enterprise team, all of them silent as they look on. “And that I would go away so easily?”

“I don’t love you anymore,” Jim declares, the sentence causing his chest to ache momentarily before it disappears.

John’s expression falters into one of sadness and steps forward to touch Jim’s cheek. “My darling…”

“I’m not yours,” the younger man whispers, his lips quivering as tears sting his eyes. He jerks his head out of the way of the Englishman’s hand. “Not anymore. You chose power over me.”

John sighs. “It was a difficult choice, James, to serve my nation or follow the Führer’s vision,” he explains. “In the end, I wanted purity and peace, even if it meant a war. We—the chosen—alone would be superior and would lead others.” His eyes glint madly as he grabs Jim’s chin, yanking him forward. His nails dig into the younger man’s skin, unsympathetic to his cries of pain. “Centuries from now, they will remember me as their savior. Not some criminal condemned to death or exile. Things will be different once these animals understand. I will _make_ them understand.”

“Peace shouldn’t come with such a dire price,” Jim grunts.

“It did during the Second World War and the one before it,” the Englishman counters, pulling him closer. He nuzzles the younger man’s cheek, brushing the soft skin of his lips against it. “Peace comes at the heels of bloodshed. _You_ of all people should that know.”

Jim smirks. “Me of all people,” he repeats.

“Join me, my darling,” John insists, his mouth resting against the captain’s ear. “Allow history to remember us both.”

He pulls back, searching the other man’s face in the darkness and expecting the differences to show on the outside. They don’t; still hidden beneath familiar curves and planes and waiting to be uncovered. “I would have given you anything you asked for,” Jim whispers.

“I know,” John replies, lowering the pistol. He goes to caress his cheek, as he used to do when they were alone in the tent. “I know you would have done it gladly, James.”

Jim closes his eyes and nods. “You forgot one thing, John,” he states, opening his eyes to see the confusion on his former lover’s face. It melts away to pain as he slams the pocket knife Jim hid into the Englishman’s side.

In retrospect, he muses how easily the blade sinks into flesh and that the man’s blood is hot, so unlike the state of his heart.

“I’m no pushover,” Jim hisses as he flicks his wrist, damaging John’s kidneys before he pushes him into the opened cellar door of the castle. He doesn’t stay to watch him fall to the ground or hear him cry out if he does.

Instead, Jim runs to the jeep, where he leaps inside as Scotty shouts “‘Bout bloody time!” before throwing the vehicle into drive. He finds Leonard lying on his back with Carol and Spock trying to stabilize his broken leg as the Jeep accelerates.

“Bones,” he says, reaching for the doctor’s grime-covered hand and holds it in his own. Jim winces when Leonard cries out. “Hey, look at me.”

A pair of bright hazel eyes glances up at him, muzzy from pain and exhaustion.

“Atta boy,” Jim whispers, bending down to press his lips against his lover’s forehead. “We’re getting you out of here, okay? Somewhere that doesn’t have men hiding in the woods.”

Leonard chuckles, then groans. “I need a drink,” he tells the younger man, closing his eyes. “Or a bottle of something.”

Jim goes to tell him that they’ll be at the rendezvous point before he knows it when an explosion shakes the area around them. The jeep swerves momentarily and Scotty gains control of the wheel.

“Do you think we’ll get arrested for destroying the property of the Royal Family?” Hikaru shouts.

“Darlin’,” Leonard says. “Do me a favor and push Sulu out.”

Jim shakes his head with a smile. “No can do, Bones,” he replies, brushing the doctor’s hair off his forehead. “We need him.”

He continues to whisper into Leonard’s ear in an effort to take his mind off the pain. Every time his lover moans, Jim soothes him and assures that everything will okay.

They arrive at the rendezvous point, where a large plane—larger than any Jim has ever laid eyes on—waits for them with the freight ramp down. As the jeep pulls up, a team of people headed by Geoffrey comes down the ramp with a gurney.

“Glad you could make it,” he greets as he peeks inside the vehicle. He assists in lowering the back and climbs inside to survey the damage. “Looks like you’ve got a broken leg, Len.”

Leonard rolls his eyes at the obvious comment. “Fuck you, Geoff,” he hisses.

“Ah,” Geoffrey says, clearly amused as he turns towards Jim. “Don’t worry about ol’ McCoy here, he’ll be just fine.”

Jim keeps his attention on the doctor, clutching his hand as he’s transferred from the jeep to the plane. Even after an IV line is started and Leonard succumbs to the pull of pain medication, he stays completely focused on his lover.

And never once looks back to the inferno behind him.

 

* * *

 

Leonard’s leg is mended during a four-hour long surgery performed by Geoffrey and another doctor by the name of Philip Boyce.

The latter introduces himself to Jim, who waits patiently while the others are getting settled in their new surroundings. He is a tall man with graying hair and vaguely reminds Jim of his godfather, though not as stern.

“We’re keeping him under for the night,” Philip—as he insists on being called—explains while he and the younger man walk through the hospital wing. “It helps with pain management and from what Dr. M’Benga told me, Dr. McCoy can be quite…well, I’m sure you know.”

Jim chuckles and nods in agreement.

He finds himself being led to a private room, much like the one back in Iowa, though more modern. There is a full bathroom on Jim’s left and a picture window that reveals the moon lingering over Dover. The hum of medical equipment punctuates the otherwise quiet surroundings and the lights have been dimmed for the single occupant. Tucked in bed with his leg in traction is Leonard, whose face is turned towards them. The medical staff has cleaned him up from his misadventure, much like Leonard had done for him. Gone is the grime on his skin and soiling clothing which has been replaced with a hospital gown. The minor injuries—such as the cut on his cheek—has been tended to and covered with a bandage while his leg has been encased in a cast.

Save for the IV, there are no other visible tubes.

“He’ll need physical therapy to strengthen the limb once we are able to remove the cast,” Philip tells Jim as they approach the bed. “But I expect that a full recovery is in his future, pending he listens.”

The younger man smiles at this. “I’ll make sure of it,” he replies, his fingers brushing against Leonard’s outstretched arm. He feels the fine hairs on his skin and expects his lover to wake at the touch.

“The nurses will bring in a cot for you to sleep on,” the older gentleman says. “One of your friends—Mr. Scott, I believe—brought yours and Dr. McCoy’s things in here. I suspect you’d like to clean up, given the circumstances of your travels.”

Jim remembers that he hasn’t had time to change or wash the muck from his body, as his mind had been preoccupied with Leonard’s condition.

“You did the rebellion a mighty service,” Philip adds, patting him on the shoulder. “You should be proud, Mr. Kirk.”

He sighs. “I feel like that I could sleep for a week,” Jim admits, giving the doctor a side-long glance. He smiles tiredly.

“Well, I dare say you’ve earned it,” the other man replies with a smile of his own. “Though I think Dr. McCoy wouldn’t appreciate it.”

Jim snorts. “He’d probably get mad at me for hogging the bed.”

 

* * *

 

It’s mid-afternoon when Leonard’s eyelashes start fluttering against the tops of his cheeks.

Jim watches as his lover crawls back to consciousness, holding his hand while the other cards through his dark hair. “Bones,” he whispers, leaning close to kiss his jaw. “Open those eyes, baby. Some of us are getting impatient.”

“I’ll take all the time I want,” Leonard slurs grouchily. He squeezes Jim’s fingers, drawing his thumb over the younger man’s knuckles.

His eyes eventually open, revealing themselves to be dazed and glassy. They close briefly as if the natural daylight is too much for him. “Where are we?”

“Dover,” Jim answers. His lips move to Leonard’s brow. “There’ll be bluebirds over the white cliffs…”

The doctor groans. “Shut your trap,” he grouses over Jim’s laughter. Regardless of his complaints, Leonard movers closer to Jim and sighs happily as their cheeks touch.

“It would probably be a good time for me to tell you something before you go off and get yourself kidnapped again,” Jim teases, earning a curse from the doctor.

“I’m going to _ignore_ that statement and pretend it was a Vicodin-induced hallucination,” Leonard mumbles with a scowl.

The younger man wrinkles his nose. “I love you,” Jim whispers loud enough for only the doctor to hear.

“It’s a good thing that I love you, too,” Leonard tells him with a tired grin spreading across his lips.

A comfortable silence develops between them, allowing both men to savor the feeling of being next to each other once more. Jim remembers the times during his own recovery where he and Leonard would exist like this and how easy it had come to them.

It still does, even now with the change of scenery and John’s demise.

“Are you okay, darlin’?” his lover asks.

Jim nods. “Yeah,” he replies, pulling back to view Leonard’s handsome face. He soothes down several cowlicks with a grin. He had come so close to losing him. “I am now.”

 


End file.
